


Ambivalence

by Pokeydotes



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst with a Happy Ending, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pre-Slash, angsty boy love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 20:04:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 55,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9341111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pokeydotes/pseuds/Pokeydotes
Summary: When a never ending drought plagues Camelot, Arthur and Merlin have bigger problems to deal with than pesky little things like feelings.Arthur and Merlin are clueless, and the Knights are tired of their bullshit.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nobu_akuma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nobu_akuma/gifts).



> This was written for the Merthur Gift Exchange for 2016-2017. 
> 
> This was what I was given:
> 
> Prompt 1: "I just want a hug" friendship/established relationship
> 
> Likes: Fluff, Angst, First Kiss, AU, Alternate Canon, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Friendship, Getting Together, Jealousy  
> Dislikes: A/B/O, Abuse, Drugs, Rape, Self-Harm, Smut, Suicide, Torture, Tragedy
> 
> I had planned to write a short little one shot, but the fangirl in me took over and decided that the boys needed an adventure. Enjoy.

am·biv·a·lence

/amˈbivələns/

noun

the state of having mixed feelings or contradictory ideas about something or someone.

 

***

Merlin had magic.

It was two days shy of three months since that marvelous revelation, and Arthur still caught himself thinking it in wonder.

And sometimes anger. But he was working on that.

The number of people within Camelot who knew of Merlin’s magic could be counted on one hand, and honestly, Arthur would like to keep it that way. The fewer who knew, the fewer chances there were of word getting back to the King.

And while Uther’s mind might be held captive by his depression, Arthur had no doubt that the whisper of a sorcerer within the castle would awaken the King from his miserable existence of late.

And even if the King couldn’t be bothered to act, the court would expect Arthur to, and that thought had been the fuel for many a nightmare over the last few weeks.

No, the fewer who knew the better.

The thought of someone finding out sent a prickle of paranoia down Arthur’s spine. He glanced around, taking in the people filing past him, arms laden with linens, crockery, baskets of withered vegetables, and the occasional sword, and wondered, not for the first time, whether any of them had magic that they were hiding.

Like Merlin.

Because Merlin had magic.

And he was also missing.

Arthur passed the kitchen, servants bowing their heads if they notice him, most too busy running about their business to stop and look. A quick glance inside showed no Merlin, but he did see a harassed looking woman with an angry pinch to her forehead swinging an uncomfortably dirty ladle at a young boy.

“How many times have I told you? Those are not your chickens!”

There was half a second’s pause where Arthur wondered whether or not he should intervene when Gwaine rounded the corner, his eyes carefully watching the ladled woman as he backed his way out of the kitchen.

Arthur grabbed his shoulder, and spun him around.  “Where’s Merlin?” he asked, rolling his eyes at what was in Gwaine’s hand and thought he should grab the cook’s ladle himself.

Gwaine, half a chicken leg in his mouth, muttered something that sounded similar to “Gaius” and gestured towards the East Wing with the greasy chicken bone. Arthur gave the stolen food a disparaging look, but slapped Gwaine on the shoulder in thanks as he took off.

It had taken nearly a month before the Knight had stopped watching Arthur with a certain level of mistrust, his eyes following Arthur’s every move as though he fully expected Arthur to change his mind and order Merlin’s execution.

It had bothered Arthur at first, the thought that one of his Knights didn’t trust him. But looking back, Arthur cannot truly fault any of them for their uncertainty. His initial reaction to seeing Merlin use magic hadn’t been…friendly.

They had been on patrol. The tracks they had been following had split, one leading left, the other right. Arthur had given the order, pointed to Gwaine, Leon, and Frederick, sending them one way, while he, Lancelot, and Merlin had gone the other.

The sound of battle cries and metal clashing had carried through the trees, and Arthur had started running, Merlin and Lancelot right behind him.

The scene they stumbled upon proved not to be in the Knights’ favor. Sir Frederick was dead, Gwaine and Leon both on their knees, eyes angry as the strangers with the swords readied the death blow.

Arthur and Merlin had seen it at the same time. Both had reached out, hands outstretched before them. And while Arthur had screamed “No,” Merlin had screamed something completely unexpected. And far more effective.

The blades were dropped, the would-be killers thrown back, and after a few moments of stunned silence, the Knights had moved and taken the scene.

Painful was the word Arthur had assigned to the memory. Shock freezing them all in place and Lancelot stepping in front of Merlin defending him from the others had been the only things stopping anyone from doing anything they’d later regret.

Words were had, accusations thrown, promises sworn, and forgiveness begged.

It had been days after the incident before Arthur spoke to Merlin, weeks before he allowed him back into his chambers to clean, and a full month and a half before he realized that he missed Merlin’s company and that he still wanted the idiot around.

It had only taken moments to realize he didn’t want Merlin dead.

Not that he let Merlin know that, at least, not immediately. Arthur was vengeful enough at the time to let the man worry. For a little while. And then there was the occasional threat of banishment that was mentioned a time or two.

But despite a rocky start, things had worked out, and they had resumed their prior roles of Lord and manservant, the tenuous title of ‘friends’ even more shaky, but still intact.

And Merlin, to his credit, had been trying harder. He’d put forth an effort to insure Arthur’s chambers were cleaned, that the stables were seen to, and that Arthur’s sword and armor were always properly polished and sharpened. Until now, at least.

Merlin had served Arthur breakfast, had gathered the dirty dishes, and then promptly disappeared. It was now past lunch and Merlin was nowhere to be seen, and Arthur was growing aggravated.

The crowd of people grew sparser as he crossed the courtyard, the heat and midday sun sending everyone in search of a break from the heat.

Arthur took the stairs two at a time. “Merlin!”

The door to the physician’s chambers was cracked and it flew open as Arthur pushed it forward.

He half expected to find Gaius, eyebrow cocked in disapproval at Arthur’s brusque entrance, an excuse for Merlin at the ready. But no, the physician was nowhere in sight. Instead, he found Merlin peeking out from behind a small privacy screen Gaius uses on occasion.

“Arthur?” Merlin looked surprised, almost as though he couldn’t fathom why Arthur would be angrily screaming his name and bursting through doors.

“Merlin,” Arthur returned, trying to hide his curiosity as Merlin turned to look back behind the screen before turning back to Arthur.

“What are you doing here?” Merlin asked, sounding put upon. He must have heard it, because he hastily tacked on a semi-respectful “sire.”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Arthur pointed out, striding across the room as Merlin disappeared back behind the screen. “You should be—oh.”

Arthur wasn’t too certain what he expected to see, but he knew for certain it wasn’t this.

There was a young, blonde woman lying face down on a cot, head resting on folded arms, her back bare, the top of her dress bunched up and wrinkled around her waist. Arthur could see the curve of her breast pressed against the thin mattress.

Merlin had his sleeves rolled up, his fingers carefully spreading a pale, green poultice across the welts marking the woman’s back.

Merlin just arched an eyebrow, silently prompting Arthur to speak as he picked up a strip of damp linen and carefully laid it over the line of the poultice he had just smeared. The woman didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, and Arthur realized she was unconscious.

“Where’s Gaius?” was the only thing Arthur could think to ask.

 

“Can you tear me another piece,” Merlin asked softly, and he pointed a green smeared hand towards a pile of linen, his eyes never leaving the woman’s back. Annoyed at being ignored, Arthur took a step forward to grab the linen, but stopped when a girl who could be no more than twelve, maybe thirteen with wide brown eyes and pale, stringy hair rose from a chair set out of the way but within clear view of Merlin and the injured woman.

 

The girl gave a slight curtsy, mumbled “My Lord” in greeting with a shy and rushed whisper before grabbing the linen and working it into pieces similar to those Merlin had already used. Her accent when she had greeted him hinted that she was not from Camelot, her light hair implied that she was most likely related to Merlin’s patient. Camelot seemed to be overflowing with visitors lately.

Arthur stood by silently, trying not to look impatient as Merlin and the girl treated the last of the woman’s injuries. The illusion of patience faded away, however, when Merlin began to wipe his hands on an old cloth and continued to ignore Arthur.

“Merlin?” Arthur said in a clipped tone.

“Arthur?” Merlin clipped back. The girl’s brown eyes widened, darting back and forth between both men. Clearly someone understood the concept of rank and respect due.

 

“Where’s Giaus?”

“Lady Eleanor’s water broke this morning,” Merlin informed him. “She’s been in labor all day.”

Arthur frowned. “And Gaius is helping? That’s what the midwife is for.”

Merlin shook his head and tossed the dirty cloth to the floor, nudging it with the toe of his boot towards the bloodied bits of cloth piled beneath the cot. “Midwife’s taken ill, caught fever last night.”

When Arthur opened his mouth to point out the existence of other midwives, Merlin cut him off with another shake of his head and a click of his tongue.  “Lord Roderick doesn’t trust any of the midwives from the lower town. He said something along the lines of ‘if Gaius was good enough to deliver the Prince, he’s good enough to deliver my child’.” Merlin deepened his voice and squared his shoulders in an admittedly decent imitation of Lord Roderick.

 

Arthur just stared at him. “My mother died in childbirth…”

Merlin awkwardly scratched at the back of his neck. “Yeah, we all thought it best not to point that out,” Merlin’s tone hinted at humor and an apology. “Lord Roderick had seemed twitchy enough.”

“So you’re playing physician then?”

The young girl, having remained quiet but attentive during the exchange, straightened up, voice not quite as shy as before. “Merlin’s done a fine job,” she insisted. When Merlin and Arthur turned to look at her, her expression morphed into one of surprise, as though she hadn’t meant to speak out loud. Nervously, she added on another whispered, “My Lord.”

Merlin beamed at her. “Thank you, Margaret.” She gave him another shy smile, but otherwise remained silent.

Arthur was about to ask how Margaret and the young woman ended up in Gaius’ chambers when the door burst open again, although with a good deal less noise than when Arthur had entered.

Gwen waddled in, a large bucket held before her. She was leaning back to counter the weight, her steps short and cautious, but water still sloshed over the rim of the bucket.

“I’m so sorry it took so long,” she apologized. “The line at the well was halfway through the market.” She was watching the bucket, trying not to spill and didn’t see Arthur until she nearly ran into him.

She jumped, the movement sending a decent amount of water from the bucket down her dress, plastering the fabric to her shin. “Arthur! Sorry, I didn’t know you were—um, hello.”

“Hello, Guinevere.” Arthur returned her smile and took the bucket. He set it where Merlin gestured and stepped out of the way as Merlin filled a bowl and began to properly wash his hands.

There were a few moments of awkward silence, the only sounds being the muffled clip-clop-clip-clop of horse hooves echoing from the courtyard through the opened window and the uneven drip and slosh of water as Merlin finished cleaning up.

Gwen took a breath, and asked politely, “I thought you were to be in council meetings all morning?”

Arthur nodded, and forced himself to relax at the mention of the council. The sight of the injured woman and Merlin looking somewhat capable in his actions had thrown him off, temporarily making him forget why he had angrily stomped halfway across the castle.

“I was in meetings all morning,” he said, his smile turning sardonic as he turned his attention to Merlin. He let his voice adopt that falsely-sweet tone he preferred when Merlin had irked him. “But it’s now half past mid-day and I was in need of my manservant.”

 

Merlin turned to Arthur, expression disbelieving and voice incredulous as he angrily shook the water from his hands and pointed to the girl still unconscious on the makeshift bed. “She was flogged, Arthur. Gaius asked me to help, what was I supposed to do? Leave Margaret with a list of instructions and wish her good luck?”

 

“I can’t read,” Margaret pointed out timidly, making it known how well that hypothetical would have worked. She blushed and focused on the scrap of torn linen in her lap.

Merlin’s shoulders sagged, the momentary anger he had at Arthur vanishing.

 

 

Arthur looked to the woman still lying on the bed, the poultice drying into a darker shade of green.  “Who flogged her?” he asked, trying to sound unintimidating.

Margaret looked up, checking to see if she was the one being addressed. Finding three sets of eyes focused on her, she blushed again and picked at the frayed edges of the makeshift bandages. “Our father.  She’s in love, and…he doesn’t approve.”

The silence that filled the room now was more tense than awkward as Gwen, Merlin, and Arthur all shared a knowing look. By law, a man was perfectly within his rights to punish his children, within reason, for any behavior he deemed to be improper.

Unfortunately, Uther has always felt a few lashes were perfectly within reason for possibly disgracing a family name. It was one of the first issues Arthur remembered Morgana fighting about with Uther. The topic had come up regularly until Morgause appeared.

Arthur cleared his throat and asked apologetically, “Guinevere? Will you be able to tend to Margaret and her sister until Gaius returns? I really do have need of Merlin.”

“Of course, Sire,” she nodded and offered Margaret a friendly smile. “That is, I mean…” she turned to Merlin, brow pinched in concern, “is all of the physician’s tasks been seen to?”

Merlin looked up, that startled stoat face fully in place. “Oh, er…yeah. I mean, Gaius said the potion’ll most likely keep her out for a bit. Just try not to let flies get to the wounds and she should be good. And if she wakes, just get her to drink some water.”

He glanced towards the bed, and frowned. “You’ll have to wait for Gaius before you give her anything for the pain though. Poultice should help, but I don’t—I don’t really know anything about pain tonics yet.”

“That’s alright,” Gwen said in her calming, motherly tone. She squeezed his hand and made her way to the empty stool next to the bed. “We’ll be just fine. Won’t we Margaret?”

Margaret smiled and Arthur grabbed Merlin’s shoulder and guided him out the door.

Merlin shook loose, but kept up with Arthur’s hurried pace. “What’s wrong?”

Arthur glanced around, insuring everyone was too far or too busy to bother overhearing before saying casually. “You weren’t at the council meeting.”

Merlin snorted derisively. “I’m pretty certain Sir Leon is perfectly capable of recounting the tally of grain stores without my presence.”

“Yeah? Well, tell me Merlin. How certain are you that the council isn’t whispering of magic and evil being the cause of this drought?”

That stopped Merlin mid step. “Why would they think that? Droughts happen all the time.”

“Not here, they don’t. Not like this.” Arthur stepped close and spoke low. “As for why, they’ve been council to my father for nearly three decades. Magic is synonymous with Evil.”

“Magic is not evil.” Merlin’s shoulders were tense, but the words were spoken calmly, though still with conviction. A statement of fact, rather than a plea to understand. They’ve had this conversation numerous times over the last few months. Eventually, after numerous arguments, Arthur finally relented to the notion that magic was a neutral tool that was sometimes abused by evil people. 

Arthur grabbed Merlin’s elbow and urged him to start walking again. “I might know that, but do you feel like standing in front of the royal council and explaining that?”

When the expected sarcasm didn’t come, Arthur looked to Merlin, frowning at the way Merlin sucked on his bottom lip, his eyebrows drawn together in thought, looking as though he was actually considering it.

Arthur slapped Merlin on the back of the head. “You are not going to try to explain it to the royal council!” he hissed.

Merlin had the decency to look contrite at even entertaining the idea. “Do I look like I have a death wish?” he asked, rubbing the back of his head. “I like my head on my shoulders, thank you very much.”

“You’d never know, with the way you act,” Arthur told him. “You are the most careless fool I’ve ever seen when it comes to having a secret that carries a death sentence. It’s a wonder you’re able to fool anyone.”

“Fooled you,” Merlin mumbled, fingers adjusting his rolled up sleeves. “And everyone else, too.”

“Yeah, well…” Arthur waved a hand dismissively. The last few times their conversations had steered in this direction, they’d argued. And he really didn’t feel like fighting right now. “That’s only because you’re too inept at almost everything you do. Anyone in their right mind would be crazy to think you capable of powerful magic.”

Merlin grinned. “And you’re in your right mind, are you?”

“Certainly,” Arthur said proudly. “Far more so than the council currently, at any rate.”

They made it to the center of the courtyard, the sun bearing down without a cloud in sight. Merlin used his scarf to wipe the sweat from his face as he asked, “Alright, if you don’t want me to convince them that not all magic is evil, then what do you want me to do?”

“Figure out if it is magic, and if so, how to stop it.”

Merlin dropped his scarf, placed his hands on his hips and glanced around the near vacant courtyard. “And if it’s not caused by magic?”

Arthur took a deep breath and met Merlin’s eyes. “Then maybe it can be stopped by magic.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Armed guards were now having to stand watch at the town’s well. The line seemed never ending, and fights had broken out over the smallest of things.

Tents and other temporary shelters had begun to line the castle walls, families and entire villages arriving and seeking shelter anywhere they could. The drought was nearing the three month mark, and people were officially beginning to worry.

Straw and dead leaves had been scattered on the unpaved roads in an effort to keep the dust from stirring up and choking people as they walked.

Food was being rationed, the crops that weren’t already dead were well on their way to dying, and each day showed more and more people seeking refuge in Camelot.

“We’ll have to start turning people away eventually.” Arthur wasn’t sure who said it, the voice gruff and worried speaking up from the group behind him.

“And where else would they go?” He asked, his tone harsh as he turned from the window to face the group of men. ”They’re just as likely to starve anywhere else as they are here.”

“My Lord,” Agravaine spoke up, “We do not intend to be callus, but we have the well-being of Camelot to think about.”

“And these people are of Camelot,” Arthur countered, voice turning hard as he gestured to the window and the crowds below. “They might not be of this city, but they are of our kingdom.”

 

“I meant no disre-” Agravaine began, only to be cut off when Arthur raised a hand and shook his head.

“For now, the gates stay open. Increase patrol along the lower town. Issue a curfew to be enforced when the sun’s at its highest point, no one should be working during the hottest part of the day. Gaius has reported several deaths from the heat.”

 

There were murmurs of “Yes, My Lord” and people began to file out of the room.

Merlin waited until everyone had left and the doors were closed before stepping forward. “If people are going to be working at night, we’ll have to make sure the torches don’t burn down the town.”

Arthur sat on the throne, his bones loose, shoulders slumped. He looked defeated. “We wouldn’t have to worry about it if the drought would just end.”

“It can’t last forever,” Merlin said unhelpfully, leaning against one of the pillars, his arms crossed as he closed his eyes and appreciated the feel of the cool stone against his sweaty back. He had long since abandoned his jacket, his scarf disappeared nearly a week ago, and his sleeves seemed to always be rolled up.

Arthur found Merlin’s new look distracting.

And he wasn’t sure why. Nearly everyone in the city had begun to wear lighter clothing, to shed layers and show a bit more skin.

Merlin wasn’t showing any more than the next person, and yet, there was something about Merlin’s long neck, the prominent Adam’s apple, and the sharp collar bones that always drew Arthur’s eye and made him lose focus on the task at hand.

Like now.

Arthur blinked and cleared his throat.

“Gaius seems convinced that the drought isn’t magical in origin.” Arthur leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. The physician had researched and offered suggestions and theories, but in the end, he had reluctantly admitted that he didn’t believe magic to be to blame.

“Droughts happen,” Merlin pointed out. Again. “Not every hardship that comes across Camelot is to be blamed by magic.”

“My father wouldn’t think so.”

“Yes, well,” Merlin opened one eye to look at Arthur. “Your father isn’t currently calling the shots. And, no disrespect, but I rather prefer it that way at the moment.”

Arthur’s face must have shown distaste because Merlin quickly added, “I’m just saying, Uther would have us out hunting imaginary sorcerers if he thought they were to blame for this drought. And you know it.”

Arthur was not naïve enough to believe his father infallible. He had long since recognized the mistakes his father had made. “Innocent people would be blamed.”

“Most likely,” Merlin agreed softly.

Arthur glanced back towards the ceiling. The damage from Morgause’s last visit was still visible where pieces of the stone and mortar had fallen.

“There has to be a way to fix this,” he said after a moment’s silence. “Are you sure you’ve tried everything?”

“Yes, Arthur,” Merlin answered, sounding tired, “There isn’t any reference in any text I’ve found that says how to control the weather. I can’t just produce water out of thin air.”

“We must be missing something.”

Merlin lowered his head and sighed before turning and facing Arthur. “Arthur, the last time Camelot suffered a severe drought was before the Great Purge. Magic was everywhere then. People were actively trying to reverse the drought, and they all failed. And that was with a lot more resources, a lot more people…a lot more power.”

“Then what happened? How did Camelot survive?”

“The drought ended. Naturally, without magic,” Merlin answered. “The people suffered, but it did end. And people recovered.”

Arthur stood up, indignant. “So, we’re just supposed to wait. Sit back and watch as people die from hunger, as their homes are burnt, as—”

“Don’t make it sound like I don’t care!” Merlin yelled back, stepping forward and pointing a finger at Arthur. “I’m trying! But I’m in over my head, Arthur. I have no idea what I’m doing, and it’s hard enough without you constantly reminding me that I’m failing!”

Arthur stared at him, taken aback at the outburst and confused at the words. “When have I said you’re failing?”

The question caught Merlin off guard, and he dropped his hand. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it again, his look of confusion matching Arthur’s.

“You’re not failing, Merlin,” Arthur told him, softly, his energy suddenly drained “And I apologize if I’ve made you feel that way.”

Merlin bowed his head and stared at the floor. “It’s not your fault, you know.”

“You feeling like a failure?” Arthur asked, once again sounding confused.

“No,” Merlin looked up, expression serious. “This drought. It’s not your fault.” Arthur turned and shook his head, ready to dismiss Merlin’s notion that he blamed himself, except Merlin was having none of that. “Arthur, I know you. Probably better than anyone in this kingdom. You’re blaming yourself, taking on the responsibility of something you literally have no control of.”

Arthur paced a few steps, thinking. He knew, logically, he wasn’t responsible for a drought, not if the drought really was natural. But if it were magical…

 “I have brought destruction to Camelot in the past,” he pointed out. “Drought, famine.”

Merlin sighed and plopped down on the edge of the throne. “Have you killed another unicorn?” He asked in tired exasperation.

“No.”

“Offended a fairy?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Wished on the wrong star?”

“I don’t wish on stars.”

“What about kissed a red-haired maiden?”

Arthur paused, “Is that bad luck?”

Merlin shrugged and offered a grin. “It’s never ended well for Gwaine.”

Arthur snorted. “Yes, well Gwaine’s a fool.”

“And you’re not.” It wasn’t stated as a question, but Merlin’s grin hinted at his doubt.

Arthur simply returned Merlin’s smile and said indignantly, “Obviously.”

Merlin laughed and shook his head.

 “And Merlin?”

”What?”

“You can’t sit there.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

The candles sitting along the window ledge had melted, the wax merging with the stone. Merlin just left them where they were.

Gaius had taken to leaving the windows open in the hopes that a cool breeze might find its way into the lab. Merlin would think it a fine idea, if there were any breeze to be felt.

The air outside, along with being hot, had become still. The death toll from the oppressive heat had reached the double digits and grew nearly every day. It was mostly affecting the elderly and infants, but there had been young men and women in perfect health drop dead.

It was nearing midday and everyone who could, had made their way indoors. Arthur had opened the citadel to those camping outside the city’s walls, offering them shelter and shade during the day.

Life in Camelot had become miserable.

Not only did they have to deal with the heat, the lack of food and water, but now there was an excess of people, all closely packed together in a tight space. The scent of human waste and body odor was oppressive, and many of the livestock had begun to die.

Merlin dipped his hand into the small bucket of water Gaius kept tucked away beneath the stairs and cupped a handful of water to drink before doing it again, this time letting the water run over the back of his neck.

“You’re going to be late,” Gaius informed him as he wrapped herbs for storage. “And Arthur’s already in a foul mood.”

“All of Camelot is in a foul mood,” Merlin pointed out. He ran his wet hand down his face, enjoying the coolness. “And I’m not late.”

Gaius pointed at Merlin with a dried twig. “Not yet, but you will be if you don’t get your lazy bum out that door.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Merlin assured him, dragging his feet. It was the hottest part of the day, the sun at its highest point, and the courtyard was eerily empty.

Merlin entered the castle’s main entrance. Dozens of people were sitting on the stone floors lining the walls, all trying to get out of the sun. Merlin offered them a friendly smile, which no one returned, and made his way up the steps towards Arthur’s chambers.

Things had been weird with Arthur lately. Or more like Arthur had been weird with Merlin. At first, Merlin had just assumed it had to do with Arthur’s discomfort and lingering anger over Merlin’s magic.

But then Arthur somewhat reluctantly agreed with Gaius’ well laid out logic concerning whether or not magic was evil. Merlin’s jaw nearly hit the floor when Arthur had asked in a mumbled somewhat embarrassed and cautious tone whether or not Merlin could heal the deep cut Arthur had gotten one day in practice.

Merlin had hated having to admit his ability to heal with magic wasn’t always reliable.

But nonetheless, Arthur had seemed to get more comfortable with the idea of Merlin having magic, or at least used to the idea, even if he was still somewhat unhappy. But the weirdness didn’t go away.

If anything, the weirdness had gotten worse. Arthur would stare at him, watching him as he worked where before, the Prince would hardly glance at him. Then there was the way Arthur had taken to insisting Merlin always be around. Most of Merlin’s down time was disappearing, getting shorter and shorter with each passing day as Arthur ordered Merlin to be near him, even if there was nothing to do.

A nervous part of Merlin’s mind kept insisting that Arthur wanted to keep Merlin within sight to keep an eye on him, that the Prince didn’t trust Merlin on his own anymore. But Merlin chose to ignore that thought, choosing instead to focus on the way Arthur had begun to come to Merlin with anything concerning magic, asking questions that Arthur had never before been allowed to ask.

But the weirdness didn’t end with odd stares and Arthur’s insistence for Merlin’s presence. No, the strangest change in Arthur had to be the touching.

Arthur had always been a tactile person. The first day Merlin met him, Arthur had wrestled him manually into submission, Merlin’s arm pinned painfully behind his back, Arthur pressed against him. There were years’ worth of memories recalling slaps on the head, encouraging punches to the arm. Merlin had seen Arthur pat his Knights on the back numerous times after a practice gone well.

Arthur had always been touching someone, but it was the manner of the touches that had changed, or at least, so Merlin thought.

There was still the occasional slap on the back of the head or the angry grip of an arm when Merlin had done something Arthur deemed stupid or foolish. But now there were more little touches than before.

Merlin wasn’t sure if it was a new development or if the heat and sheer discomfort brought about by close contact had made him notice it, but Arthur had definitely been touching Merlin more than usual.

It wasn’t anything too drastic, nothing that anyone else seemed to have noticed. But Arthur had been standing closer to Merlin lately, the back of his fingers resting against the back of Merlin’s hand, his shoulder pressing against Merlin’s.

Sometimes, Arthur would reach out and mess with the loose strings on Merlin’s tunic, his fingers reaching forward and touching the sweaty curls at the nape of Merlin’s neck.

Arthur always seemed to look embarrassed when he realized what he was doing, if he realized what he was doing, and always quickly pulled his hand back resulting in a shared awkwardness. Merlin always chose not to comment, for which Arthur seemed to be thankful.

But all things considered, a few eccentricities on Arthur’s part were the least of anyone’s worries. Merlin’s especially, all things considered.

He wove his way through the small clusters of people meandering about the castle and continued on towards Arthur’s chambers. Security within the castle itself had grown thin due to the need for more guards patrolling the ever growing town, so Merlin didn’t find it surprising when he entered the corridor with Arthur’s chambers and found no guards keeping watch.

Merlin didn’t knock before he pushed the door open, and was fully expecting another lecture when he entered the room. Instead he was greeted with a muffled, disembodied moan.

“Arthur?” Merlin asked as he closed the door behind him and glanced around the seemingly empty room.

A tired ‘what?’ was the reply from the far side of the bed, drawing Merlin’s attention. Merlin stepped forward, eyebrows bunched together as he peered over the long table to the floor near the bed, freezing mid step at the sight of Arthur sprawled out on the stone floor.

“Arthur!” Merlin yelled, nearly knocking over a chair as he hurried to round the table.

At the sound of Merlin’s worried yell, Arthur lifted his head from the floor, eyes wide. He looked around, brow wrinkling at the absence of any obvious danger and tossed a confused glare at Merlin, and asked, “Why are you yelling?”

Merlin, now kneeling next to Arthur’s prone form, pulse racing, ignored Arthur’s annoyed tone and scanned the Prince for any injuries, hands hovering awkwardly above Arthur’s chest and hip.

But Arthur didn’t appear to be hurt, not so much as a bruise in sight, and Merlin would be able to tell because Arthur wasn’t exactly dressed. He was lying in his trousers, laces loosened, shoes off, and tunic nowhere to be seen. Merlin could see old scars and blond chest hair, but nothing that would account for Arthur lying on the cold, hard floor.

“Why are you on the ground?” Merlin asked, fingers reaching for Arthur’s scalp to search for a knot or some proof that the Prince had hit his head.

Arthur lazily slapped away Merlin’s hands and groaned dramatically. “It’s bloody hot.”

Merlin dropped his hands in his lap, shoulders slumping as the sense of emergency vanished. “And lying about on the floor is going to change that?” he asked, a bit annoyed as the adrenaline brought about from worry began to ebb away.

Arthur gave Merlin a look that said Merlin was an idiot and closed his eyes. “No, but it’s better than lying in bed. Blankets are too hot, they make me sweat.”

Merlin looked at the bed and the blankets that had been kicked to the end, the heavy comforter trailing mostly along the floor, the sheets a tangled mess.

“You could have given me some warning,” Merlin complained as he climbed to his feet. “I’d thought some crazy she-devil had managed to sneak back in here and was trying have her way with you. Or kill you. Again.”

Arthur opened his eyes and sneered at Merlin. “That doesn’t happen that often, so you can quit your dramatic worrying.”

Merlin rolled his eyes and began to pull off his boots. “I believe the fact that it’s happened more than once warrants dramatic worrying.” He removed his socks and gave a small, contented sigh as his heated feet met the cool, stone floor.

“My god, Merlin,” Arthur said in his best _Merlin’s getting on my nerves_ whine. “Can’t you keep your clothes on?

Merlin glanced down at his toes in confusion. “What? You get to walk about in just your trousers, but me taking off my boots upsets your delicate sensibilities?”

Arthur made an annoyed, growling sound and slung his arm across his eyes, his other hand gesturing absently in Merlin’s direction. “You used to wear more clothes, is all,” he said, sounding slightly embarrassed.

“Yeah, well. It’s hot isn’t it?” Merlin said, tossing his boots in the corner and walking towards Arthur’s prone form. “Can’t very well wear a jacket when the sun’s trying to fry me, can I?”

Arthur peeked at Merlin from beneath his arm. “What about your scarf? You used to always wear that.”

Merlin just stared at him. “Did you not hear the bit where I said it was hot, Sire?”

Arthur rolled his eyes and let his arm flop to the floor. “It is hot.”

“Miserably so,” Merlin agreed, gently nudging Arthur’s hip with his foot before walking across the room and pulling the curtains closed.

“What are you doing?” Arthur asked, lifting his head and frowning at Merlin as though Merlin had lost his mind.

“Blocking out the sun,” he answered as he moved to the next window. “Giving the room a little shade.” The sun shining through the curtains bathed the room in an eerie, red glow that emphasized the shadows in the room.

“You can’t really see anything now,” Arthur mused as he lifted his head and glanced around.

“You need much light when laying about do you?” Merlin asked cheekily.

Arthur glared at him, or so Merlin thought despite the darkened room because Arthur then said, “You know, I can still put you in the stocks.”

“In this heat, that might as well be a death sentence,” Merlin pointed out, shoulders stiffening when he realized what he’d said. As a rule, he’d tried not to mention executions and deaths involving him since the whole Merlin-Shows-His-Magic fiasco.

Arthur’s mind, however, seemed not to have gone in that direction, because he continued on in the same light and joking tone. “Well, it’d have to be at night, of course. I think one sunburn is bad enough.”

Merlin relaxed his shoulders and rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, fingers picking at the still peeling skin. “I wouldn’t have gotten sunburned if a certain prat hadn’t made me stand in line at the well for hours.”

“How else was I supposed to get any water?” Arthur asked, hands rising from the floor in question before flopping back down like dead fish.

“I don’t know,” Merlin shrugged his shoulders and lowered himself to the floor, stretching out so that he was lying beside Arthur, their shoulders inches apart. “Maybe gone and gotten it yourself?”

Arthur scoffed and turned his head so he was facing Merlin. “The Crown Prince cannot wait in line for water like a…” he made a sort of shaky gesture in the air, like he was trying to reach for a word.

“Like a commoner?” Merlin guessed, and Arthur dropped his hand again.

“Exactly,” he said with a smile. “That’s what I have you for.”

“Yes, stable mucking and water fetching. That’s what I live for,” Merlin said, his tone bland, exhibiting about as much enthusiasm as expected.

“That’s not all you do,” Arthur informed him. “You polish my armor, sharpen my swords.”

“Clean your chambers.”

“Wash my laundry.”

“Not lately, I haven’t,” Merlin said, disrupting whatever else Arthur was about to add to the list. Arthur froze from where he had been counting the chores off on his fingers, his brow creased in annoyed confusion.

Guessing what Arthur was about to say, Merlin reminded him, “We’re on a water restriction. Can’t waste water on trivial things like laundry.”

Arthur’s frown intensified and he sat up so that he could prop himself on his elbows and properly glare at Merlin. “Have you been doing magic things with my clothes?”

“Just on the smell,” Merlin admitted. “Can’t very well get rid of the dirt and stains without people wondering why the Prince is the only one with clean clothes. But I wasn’t wanting to put up with the smell either.”

Arthur lied back down, and grumbled, “I don’t smell.”

“I know,” Merlin said proudly. “And you’re welcome.”

“I didn’t smell before you began to magic my clothes, either,” Arthur insisted. 

Merlin wrinkled his nose in consideration before conceding, “No more than any other man.” Arthur reached over and flicked Merlin’s ear. “I guess it’s a good thing you’ve cut back on training. I don’t think even my magic could mask that odor.”

“Merlin,” Arthur said threateningly.

“It’s a very manly smell,” Merlin offered consolingly. Arthur obviously wasn’t consoled however, because he sat up, reached for the pillow resting on the edge of the bed, and whacked Merlin on the face, muffling Merlin’s quickly added “sire.”

Merlin just took the pillow and placed it behind his head, completely unaffected. “I could use a proper bath, though,” he mused, absently scratching his cheek, nails catching on the stubble. “And a shave.”

“We all could,” Arthur said, and Merlin’s head thumped on the floor as Arthur removed the pillow and placed it beneath his own head.  “This whole washing up with a bucket and cloth is nonsense.”

“You do realize that’s exactly how a majority of this city bathes on a regular basis, don’t you?”

“Yes, but that’s because they don’t have tubs, isn’t it?” Arthur asked, upper lip shaped in that nonplussed curl it did every time he encountered an idea that challenged his notion of the world. “Gwen doesn’t have one.”

“And most wouldn’t want to go through the trouble of having to hall buckets of water across town to fill it even if they did own one,” Merlin added.

“Well, I own a tub,” Arthur continued. “And I have someone to fill it.”

“Not at the moment, you don’t,” Merlin reminded him, stopping the smug tone.

Arthur adjusted his pillow and frowned, but said nothing. Merlin studied Arthur’s profile, the reddish light from the curtained window making his tanned skin look darker than usual, his hair a rusty shade of blond. This close, Merlin could make out the blond stubble on Arthur’s chin and upper lip, the Prince’s facial hair growing in a bit sparser than Merlin’s.

“You need to shave, too,” Merlin observed aloud, and Arthur raised his hand, fingers running along the bare cheek to the stubbly chin.

“What I need,” Arthur said after a moment, “is for this drought to end.”

Before Merlin could answer, someone knocked lightly on the door. Merlin and Arthur both lifted their heads and stared at it. Someone knocked again, this time a little louder. “My Lord,” Leon’s voice filtered through the door.

Arthur moved to stand, using the bed for leverage as he called out “Enter.” He was only half way to his feet when Leon opened the door, his eyes blinking as he scanned the darkened room. He gave a small bow of his head when he saw Arthur, but paused as his eyes made their way to Merlin who had remained on the floor.

Whatever Leon thought of finding the Prince and his servant lying on the floor of a darkened room he kept to himself and turned his attention back to Arthur. “Sire, you’re needed in the throne room.”

“Is everything okay?” Arthur asked, reaching for his discarded shirt and squinting as he tried to see to put it on in the low light.

Merlin stood and glanced to the door that had fallen shut after Leon entered. Safe from any unwanted eyes, he turned towards the windows and let his magic open the curtains. Both windows’ coverings flew apart, flooding the room in a bright light.

Merlin, temporarily blinded from the sudden change from dark to light, took a few moments before he realized that Leon had stopped talking. Dropping his hands from where he had been rubbing his eyes, Merlin turned and looked at the other two men, both of whom were looking at him. Arthur annoyed, Leon surprised.

“What?” Merlin asked.

“Do try not to be a complete fool, Merlin,” Arthur advised, gesturing to the windows and the still swaying curtains. “You can’t just walk about doing magic.”

“It’s not like I cast a spell in the middle of the market,” Merlin pointed out defensively. “And besides, Leon already knows.”

Leon gave a shy, half smile, but remained quiet. Arthur rolled his eyes and finished pulling on his last boot. “Just try to be a bit more cautious. Grab your shoes, and let’s go.”

Merlin did as he was told. He bit his tongue and held back a sharp retort only because Leon had once again started to explain why Arthur’s presence was needed.

“They’re from Essetir, My Lord,” Leon said, glancing back as Merlin clumsily tried to pull on his boot and walk at the same time. “The drought is affecting all the lands, not just Camelot.”

Arthur stopped trying to straighten the wrinkles in his tunic, his expression serious. “We already knew it extended past Camelot’s borders,” he said, his tone making it clear he didn’t see this to be surprising news. “Rodor had sent word, asking for aid nearly a month ago.”

Leon nodded, and continued. “The drought is what’s brought them to Camelot, but it’s not the reason they seek your audience, Sire.”

“Who are they?” Merlin asked, finally having gotten both boots on and able to focus solely on the conversation.

“A peasant family,” Leon explained, calling over his shoulder and never breaking his stride.

Arthur didn’t even look back as he said, “Try to pay attention, Merlin.”

Merlin sighed indignantly, but otherwise remained quiet.

“Then what do they want?” Arthur asked.

Leon paused and looked nervously at Arthur, as though he knew Arthur wouldn’t like what he was about to say. “They say the drought’s caused by magic.”

Arthur stopped walking, his jaw tight as he faced Leon. “Do they have proof?”

Leon shook his head. “They won’t say more until they speak to you. They’re terrified, My Lord. They know magic is banned in Camelot, and…” Leon trailed off.

“They’re scared Uther will have them executed for even mentioning it,” Merlin guessed aloud. Arthur glared at him.

“Watch your mouth, Merlin,” Arthur warned in a low, stern tone. “There are only so many acts of treason I’m willing to overlook.”

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Merlin challenged, shoulders squared despite the fact that his insides were shaking in fear that he might have finally crossed the line. Leon looked back and forth between the two, eyes wide.

Arthur clenched his jaw, the muscle leading to his temple bouncing in agitation. Finally, after a few moments of tense and awkward silence, Arthur sighed and glanced away, eyes taking in the empty corridor. “You’re going to screw up one day, Merlin. And a day will come where I won’t be able to save you.”

Merlin stared at him, generally surprised that he wasn’t being ordered to the stocks or dungeon, or being threatened with banishment again. “I’m sorry,” he apologised, lowering his voice and losing the challenging demeanor. “But, Arthur, you know I’m right.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and grabbed Merlin by the upper arm. “Come on,” he ordered, and steered them towards the council room. “And Merlin, do us all a favor and keep your mouth shut during this meeting.”

***

The group gathered in the throne room, composed mostly of Knights, Lords, and the Crown Prince, looked less regal than normal. The fine clothes, treasured jewelry, and proud postures were diminished by the effects of the drought. Clothes weren’t as clean and pressed as usual, jewelry was tarnished, and postures were slumped.

Some, like Gwaine, didn’t even bother. He had abandoned his heavy chainmail and cape for a loose fitting tunic, his hair pulled back and tied with a piece of twine to keep it off his neck.

Most of the men sported beards in varying degrees of dishevelment, and nearly everyone was drenched in a layer of sweat.

But that was nothing to the small family before them. Defeated was the first word to pop in Merlin’s head. Each member, from parent to child was filthy, their faces smeared with sweat and dirt. As Arthur entered the room, the man, whom Merlin guessed to be the father of the three, small children huddled behind a tired looking woman, bowed his head before looking up nervously.

“I’m Arthur Pendragon,” Arthur began, looking at the group before him. “Sir Leon says you come from Essetir?” The man nodded, but remained silent.

“Well, welcome to Camelot,” Arthur offered a small smile, his tone easy and non-threatening. “Leon also tells me you have news concerning this drought.”

Once again, the man nodded. When he remained silent, the woman behind him whispered, “John,” in an encouraging tone. The man nodded again, this time in decision and gave another bow before speaking.

“My Lord, when the drought had first robbed our village of food, we had set out for the capital of Essetir, but we were turned away. The city was closed, and no outsiders were allowed. We had no choice but to come to Camelot.”

Merlin glanced to Agravaine, watching as the bastard’s smug face looked to Arthur. He clearly still believed that Camelot should shut its doors as well. A quick glance to Arthur proved that Arthur’s attention was focused on the man’s story.

“You do not have to fear being turned away from Camelot,” Arthur assured him. The man’s wife closed her eyes and squeezed one of her children in relief. “I’m afraid the drought has affected us as well, but we are willing to share what we have, granted that you do your share and follow our rules.”

“Yes, My Lord,” the man said enthusiastically, his head now bobbing repeatedly as he swore commitment.

Arthur nodded, and offered another smile. “But that’s not all, is it?” he asked, and the joy and relief on the man’s face fell.

Merlin took a step forward, his arm bumping against Leon’s. He wanted to tell the man not to be afraid, not to worry about Arthur changing his mind and sending them away. But he knew better. Most of the council was in the room, Agravaine standing tall and watchful behind the family. To speak up would be stupid.

Leon must have sensed Merlin’s thoughts, because he elbowed Merlin, his head shaking in warning when Merlin looked at him. Merlin pressed his lips together and turned his eyes back to the man before him.

“My Lord,” the man began, teeth nervously chewing on chapped lips, “We know magic is banned in all of Camelot. We know its practice is punishable by death…”

“Have you or your family practiced magic?” Arthur asked, tone even and unaccusing.

The man shook his head violently at the question. The woman clutched her oldest child close, her eyes wide as she shook her head slowly, pleadingly.

“Then Camelot’s stance on magic is not an issue,” Arthur informed them calmly.

The man looked to be near tears now, his fingers gripping and releasing the legs of his dusty trousers as he took a calming breath and forced himself to meet Arthur’s eye. “It was druids, My Lord. Near the border, a few days march from here.”

People began to murmur around the room, nervous and accusing whispers as people leaned in to talk to their neighbor. Merlin caught Lancelot’s eye, and knew the Knight wasn’t any happier than Merlin was with that declaration.

“Silence!” Arthur ordered loudly, his eyes moving around the room. Everyone stopped talking immediately. Arthur turned back to the man before him. “What about the druids?” he asked.

The man raised his hands and cupped them as though he were holding a large ball. “They had this…thing My Lord. Like an egg, only bigger, bigger than a man’s head.”

“It was glowing,” a small voice offered, and Merlin looked down to see one of the small children stepping out from behind his mother. “Like a firefly.”

“Sebastian, be quiet!” his mother admonished, and pulled him back to her. “Well, it did,” the boy mumbled indignantly, but stood at his mother’s side.

The man looked from his son back to Arthur. “It did, My Lord. Like there was a fire inside, only…” he paused brow furrowed as he searched for the words he wanted.

“It was blue,” Sebastian offered helpfully, ignoring the way his mother grabbed his shoulder.

“Sebastian, please!” the mother begged, looking apologetically to Arthur. Arthur, however, ignored her and focused on the child.

“Sebastian, is it?” he asked, and the boy nodded with a smile. “Did you get a good look at the…glowing egg?”

“Yep,” he said, and made a large circle with his arms, his fingertips touching above his head. “It was this big, and blue, and pretty.”

Both the boy’s parents stood silently as they watched Arthur’s reaction. Arthur simply nodded, and continued to question their son. “And the druids had it, did they?”

“They were standing around it when we walked by,” Sebastian explained. “It was flying.”

“Flying?” Arthur asked turning to look at Merlin in surprise before he could stop himself. Merlin shrugged. How was he supposed to know?

“Floating, My Lord,” the boy’s mother corrected. When Arthur gestured for her to continue, she glanced at her husband before squaring her shoulders and addressing Arthur. “We were nearing the border, My Lord, still in Essetir, when we came upon a small group of druids.”

She began to nervously run her fingers through her son’s hair, her eyes continuously glancing back and forth between her husband and Arthur. “They were...chanting. Hands waving around the—the orb thing. We tried to go around them, but they had spotted us, and they approached us, My Lord,” she emphasized. “We didn’t want anything to do with them. But they walked up to us and started asking us questions.”

“What kind of questions?” Merlin asked, earning a glare from Arthur and an elbow to the ribs from Leon. He ignored them both and kept his eyes on the woman.

“About where we were from, and why we were leaving,” she answered, looking more at ease having to answer Merlin than she did the Crown Prince. “Wanted to know about the weather, and the state of things in other parts of the kingdom.”

“And this makes you think they’re responsible for the drought?” Arthur asked doubtfully, voicing Merlin’s own thoughts.

“Weren’t they?” the man asked, sounding unsure of Arthur’s doubt. “They were doing magic, questioning us about the drought…I mean, they have to be causing it. Right?”

Arthur crossed his arms over his chest, one hand rising to rub a thumb across his lip as he stared at the floor in contemplation. “You said they were on the Essetir side of the border?”

The entire family nodded.

Arthur continued to think, thumb absently rubbing against the ring on his forefinger. After a few moments silence, the entire room’s attention focused on their Prince, Arthur nodded and looked back up, smile polite as he asked the small group, “Do you have family in Camelot? Somewhere you can stay?”

The man grimaced slightly, and bowed his head. “No, My Lord.”

Arthur seemed to look as though he had expected as much, and clapped his hands together before looking around the room. He frowned, obviously not seeing who he wanted. “Where’s Guinevere?” he asked, turning to look at Lancelot and Gwaine.

“Here, My Lord,” Guinevere’s voice called out from the back of the room, the crowd of people parting as she made her way to the center and Arthur.

Arthur gave her a grateful smile before turning to the family. “Guinevere will show you to James. He’ll be able to help you find a spot to set up camp. I’m sorry we can’t offer you anything more welcoming, but you are not the first to seek refuge here.”

“Thank you, My Lord,” the man and woman said together, the sincerity obvious.

 Arthur nodded his welcome and turned to Guinevere, “Guinevere, perhaps a stop by the kitchens first? They look hungry.”

Merlin bit his lip to hide his smile at the excited looks on the children’s faces at these words. Food was scarce, but judging by the state of them, the family probably hadn’t had a decent meal in a very long time.

“Of course, Sire,” Guinevere curtsied before turning a smiling face towards the family, the parents still looking a little shocked. “If you’ll follow me,” she said and led the way out of the room.

As soon as they were gone, Agravaine stepped forward. “My Lord.”

Arthur stopped him from continuing. “There is no proof that the druids are to blame.”

Merlin wanted to speak up, but pressed his lips together. As a servant, he couldn’t intervene, couldn’t speak up and voice his opinion on the matter in a room full of Lords.

Lancelot, however, as a Knight, could. “The druids are a peaceful people. This drought is threatening the lives of thousands. They would not do this.”

“Then how do you explain the peasant’s tale?” an old man, who Merlin knew to be a member of the Royal Court, but whose name he couldn’t remember, asked.

“I can’t,” Arthur admitted. “Which is why I’m going to investigate.”

Agravaine smiled in approval. “I can have a squadron ready—”

“No,” Arthur interrupted again. “I will go.” At the look of protest on Agravaine’s face, Arthur continued. “You will stay here, and monitor the city. There are too many desperate people to assume that peace will hold out on its own. I will take a small group of men and search for the druids.”

“And when we find them?” asked Gwaine, already knowing that he’ll be a member of Arthur’s ‘small group.’

“We’re not in any position to invite danger,” Arthur said, speaking to the entire court. “If, and only if, the druids are responsible for the drought. We will deal with them. If not…we will leave them for another day.”

Merlin saw several members of the court frown, some raise their eyebrows in surprise, but a few nodded in approval. 

Without another word, Arthur turned and left, Merlin walking right alongside him. “How many is a small group,” Merlin asked when they were halfway back to Arthur’s chambers.

“I’m guessing five is going to be the magic number,” Gwaine said, hurriedly catching up to them. He draped an arm around Merlin’s shoulders. “The Princess, me, Lancelot, Leon, and of course, Merlin. Can’t go anywhere without our trusty servant.” His smile was crooked and he wiggled his fingers on the word ‘servant’. Merlin pinched his side.

“Could you be any more obvious?” he hissed, shrugging off Gwaine’s heavy arm. It was far too hot for contact.

Gwaine had the common sense to wait until they were in Arthur’s chambers, the door closed before saying, “You mean like mentioning your magic? That obvious enough?”

“If you don’t shut it, Gwaine, that number will be down to four,” Arthur threatened as he walked to his desk and began shuffling papers.

Gwaine simply smiled and plopped in a chair.

“So, Gwaine’s right, then?” Merlin asked, “About who you’re bringing?” Arthur muttered his assent, but continued to look through the mess on his desk, turning maps over as he frowned.

“What are you going to tell Elyan and Percival?” Merlin asked, knowing the Knights would expect to be going.

“That I want them to be in charge of the lower town’s security,” Arthur answered. “My uncle’s main focus is going to be on the citadel and upper town’s inhabitants. Elyan and Percival will make certain order is maintained near the city gates. They’ll be sure no one gets hurt, and that order is maintained.”

Merlin had to admit, that sounded like a decent plan. Not only would it insure all of the city was being watched, but would also ease the blow to Percival and Elyan’s egos when they learn they wouldn’t be accompanying them.

“So,” Merlin said cautiously as he began to gather Arthur’s things for the trip, “We’re still not going to tell them about…my magic?”

“The fewer people who know the better,” Arthur said confidently. “Six people, including you, already know. And honestly, between the two of you, I’m surprised more haven’t found out.” He gestured to Merlin and Gwaine.

Gwaine made an indignant sound, but Merlin cut him off and changed the subject. “What are we going to do when we find the druids?”

“Exactly what I said,” Arthur said. “If they’re not responsible for the drought, we move on.”

Merlin sat a pile of Arthur’s clothes on the table. “And if they are?”

“Then we stop them.”

 

 

The next few hours were spent gathering supplies, a task made difficult by the increasing lack of food and water. Clothes were easy. Arthur had been clear that they were not to carry anything bearing the Camelot crest. They were to be peasant travelers searching for a reprieve from the drought, not Knights, not a Prince, and definitely not a sorcerer.

Arthur didn’t have many clothes that would pass for a peasant’s, but Merlin grabbed what he could, stuffing them in a borrowed bag alongside Arthur’s map and a set of daggers.

The stable boys were readying the horses, five steeds with bare saddles. Merlin cast one last look around Arthur’s chambers before shouldering the Prince’s bag and making his way to Gaius’ quarters.

Leon, Lancelot, and Gwaine were competent enough to pack for themselves, allowing Merlin a little wiggle room in Arthur’s timeline. He’d already sent word to the kitchens that he’d be gathering supplies for their trip. He’d learned long ago on their first adventure that the cook preferred an advanced warning when Merlin planned to raid her kitchen, and a little head’s up went a long way in getting in her good graces. He had paid a chambermaid’s son to fill the water skins. Food and water partially taken care of, there was still a good deal left to do before they left.

“I assume you’ll be traveling light?” Gaius greeted as Merlin stormed through the door, mind ticking off the things he still had on his to-do list.

“What?” he asked, caught off guard. “Oh, yeah. The lighter the better,” he said, giving Gaius a grateful smile as he noticed the man neatly folding the few spare tunics Merlin owned and stacking them on the table. “It’s going to be hard enough on the horses as it is, and the less weight for them to carry the better.”

“I was going to gather the cooking pot but thought better of it,” Gaius told him, setting a pair of trousers on the pile before turning and rummaging through the group of bottles scattered about his work station. “A fire, even a small one for cooking would be a terrible idea in this heat.”

Merlin cocked an eyebrow and gave a snort that clearly said ‘no kidding’ before bounding up the steps into his room. It was a mess, as usual. Scraps of paper, empty plates, and a few tattered socks littered the floor, a pair of ruined boots were tossed in the corner propping up the overturned bucket Merlin usually kept full of water. The only noticeable difference between the room now and the way it had looked this morning was the absence of clothes strewn haphazardly across the room, all of which were now folded in a neat pile on Gaius’ work table.

Kicking aside an empty ink bottle, Merlin dropped to his knees, arm reaching for the loose floorboard hidden near the wall. Frowning at the cobwebs sticking to his sweaty arm and hair, Merlin fumbled the board open and grabbed the hidden spell book before snatching the empty satchel hanging off the foot of his bed and darting back to the main room.

When he hopped down the stairs, it was to find Gaius securing the straps on his medicine kit. Merlin froze, eyes glancing to the stack of clothes and the noticeable pile of wrapped herbs Gaius had placed on top. “Are you planning on coming with us?” Merlin asked, slowly stuffing the book into his empty satchel.

Gaius gently set the kit on the table. “No,” he answered slowly, one hand resting on the kit. He sighed deeply before turning towards Merlin, folding his hands together, and raising his chin in determination. “No, the kit is for you.”

Merlin laughed, shaking his head as he tossed the satchel and book on the table. “And what do you expect me to do with your physician’s bag?”

“Hopefully, nothing,” admitted Gaius, frowning at Merlin’s reaction, “however, should the need arise, I feel you’d be perfectly capable of attending anyone in need.”

“Two days ago, you accused me of having the brain power of a frozen trout,” Merlin pointed out.

Gaius’ frown deepened. “You had just shattered my leech tank.”

“There weren’t any leeches in it,” Merlin defended, nose wrinkling at the memory of having to peel dead, crusted-over leeches from the tank’s floor. “Not any live ones anyhow.”

“All the same, that was an expensive tank, and hard to come by, but that is not the point,” Gaius waved his hand and shook his head, dismissing the discussion to get back on track. “The point is you have been my apprentice for many years now. You are perfectly capable of handling yourself as a physician should the need arise.”

Merlin stepped forward and unfastened the kit’s lid. “Assisting you as an apprentice and acting as a physician are not the same thing,” Merlin said, pleased to see he recognized the majority of the kit’s contents. “I know I’ve been working more and more with patients lately, but that’s because you’ve been busy.”

“Yes,” Gaius agreed, “And you’ve performed most exceptionally each time.”

“Only because you told me what to do first,” Merlin muttered and let the lid drop back on the kit with a small thud, the strap’s metal clasp clinking against the table.

“Which is how you learn. And while you have a great deal still to learn,” Gaius told him as he pointed towards the physician’s kit, “you have learned enough to sufficiently tend to any immediate wounds or illnesses.” Gaius smiled, somewhat proudly, and arched that eyebrow again, inviting Merlin to challenge him.

Merlin simply grinned back, self-consciously rubbing the back of his neck. “You really think so?”

“My boy, I wouldn’t say so otherwise.” Gaius returned Merlin’s smile before turning to sort through a pile of dried and brittle herbs.

There was a light knock, followed by Lancelot’s face peeking around the door. Seeing only Merlin and Gaius, Lancelot pushed open the door, revealing a large basket laden with loaves of bread and small bundles of linen most likely hiding dried meats and fruit.

“Thought I’d save you a trip,” Lancelot said with a smile, hoisting the full basket onto an empty stool. “I don’t think I was expecting this lot,” he said, picking up a large loaf of dark bread smattered with dried fruits and shaking his head in dismay. “My last patrol, I was given a single loaf of bread and half a wheel of cheese.”

“Yeah, well, you’ll be traveling with Arthur this time,” Merlin pointed out, peeking in the basket. “The cooks tend to spoil their Prince.”

“You won’t hear me complaining,” Lancelot smiled.

“We’ll have to split this all up between the lot of us,” Merlin informed him as he began sorting the food, deciding who would carry what. “Arthur still meeting with his uncle?”

Lancelot nodded, a small crease forming between his eyebrows.

“What’s wrong?” Merlin asked, squishing a loaf of bread as he squeezed it into Arthur’s pack.

Lancelot paused for a moment, the crease deepening as he slowly shifted his weight from one foot to the other before shaking his head and giving Merlin a false smile. “Nothing.”

Merlin stopped packing the food. “Lancelot?”

“It’s not really my place,” Lancelot began. He stared at the table, brow still creased.

“But?” Merlin prompted, seeing Gaius turn to watch them out the corner of his eye.

“What do you think of Lord Agravaine?” Lancelot finally blurted out, nervously turning to look over his shoulder at the closed door as though he were afraid someone might be listening.

“I think he’s an arse—” Merlin began, only to have Gaius cut in.

“Lord Agravaine is someone whose opinion Arthur greatly respects,” he said, staring exasperatedly at Merlin. “However, it might be wise to watch yourself where the Prince’s uncle is concerned.”

Lancelot seemed almost relieved at Gaius’ warning. “Do you get a weird feeling around him, too?”

“If by ‘weird’ you mean nervously waiting to be stabbed in the back, then yes,” Merlin muttered, purposely ignoring any stern glares Gaius might be sending his way.

“I’ve found myself questioning Agravaine’s intentions concerning certain subjects,” Gaius admitted cautiously.

“So has Arthur,” Lancelot said quietly, causing Merlin to jerk his head up in surprise.

“Arthur won’t let anyone speak ill of his uncle,” Merlin informed him tersely, “He’s blinded by this misguided loyalty to family. Agravaine’s the only living link Arthur has to his mother.” Merlin gritted his teeth, angrily stuffing a pouch of shriveled berries into Arthur’s bag. “His love for her gives Agravaine immunity to all wrongs.”

“Merlin,” Gaius admonished, though not unkindly, and Merlin could tell he was thinking of the way Arthur had yelled at Merlin the last time Merlin had questioned Agravaine’s actions.

“Did you not see the way Arthur spoke to his uncle earlier?” Lancelot asked, voice low. “He’s been pushing back, Arthur has, countering his Uncle’s decisions. Especially were magic is concerned.”

Merlin didn’t say anything. He chewed on the inside of his cheek and picked his thumbnail against a splinter on the edge of the table.

“Arthur is facing the difficult prospect of having to rule this kingdom without his father,” Gaius explained, “Between his father’s lies, Morgana’s betrayal, and, I’m sorry Merlin, but learning of your magic…can any of us blame Arthur for wanting to believe that there’s someone in his life who won’t lie to him?”

Merlin clenched his jaw, his teeth creaking, his eyes focused on the floor.

Gaius looked sympathetic, but continued softly. “Nor can we judge him for being cautious with whom he trusts. Lord Agravaine included.”

Lancelot stepped forward, arms crossed as he tilted his head, trying to catch Merlin’s eye. “He trusts you, Merlin.” His voice was soft, like he was speaking to a timid child.

Merlin looked up, angry at being coddled. He knew perfectly well that, while he and Arthur were once again friendly and on speaking terms, any absolute trust Arthur had once had in Merlin had been shattered that day in the forest when his eyes had flashed gold.

“He doesn’t trust me,” he said, surprised at the thickness in his voice, even more so at the slight tears weighing down his lashes. He hurriedly rubbed his eyes, shaking his head. “No, not like he used to.”

“Maybe not at first,” Gaius conceded as he reached out and squeezed Merlin’s arm. “But you have earned it back, my boy.”

Merlin gave Gaius a timid smile, which the old man returned. Lancelot, however, continued to stare at Merlin, his brow wrinkled and eyes studious.

“What?” Merlin asked, feeling as though he were being judged.

“You truly don’t believe he trusts you? That he cares for you?” Lancelot asked.

“I know he cares for me,” Merlin admitted, sitting on the bench next to the table and slouching forward. “Otherwise he wouldn’t be willing to keep my secret, to help me. But that’s just Arthur, he’s that way with everyone.”

When neither man said anything, Merlin looked up to find Gaius and Lancelot sharing a knowing look. “What?” Merlin asked with a frown. He wasn’t sure why, but he had a feeling that that shared look somehow involved an insult on his intelligence.

Gaius turned to Merlin, opened his mouth to speak, frowned as though he weren’t sure what to say, and closed it again.

Lancelot, however, did not seem to be at quite the same loss as Gaius. His mouth began to morph into an impish grin. “I’ll agree that Arthur cares about his people, that he’d be willing to make many sacrifices to help a friend.”

Merlin continued to frown, silently waiting for Lancelot to get to the point.

“But,” Lancelot continued, sharing another look with Gaius, “I think it’s safe to say, that when it comes to you, Arthur’s generosity goes a great deal further than…average.”

Merlin laughed. “Arthur might be generous with the chores he assigns, but that’s about as far as it goes.”

“Is it?” Gaius asked with a false sense of surprise. “I’d say the fact that you haven’t been fired, permanently, is a very good indication of his generosity. Because while you may be loyal, even I know the Prince could find a more attentive manservant to tend him.”

Merlin sneered in insult. “I’ve gotten a lot better,” he defended. They both ignored him.

“And no offense, Merlin,” Lancelot began, and Merlin had the feeling that he was about to be greatly offended. “But no one else in the kingdom, Gwaine and Guinevere included, could get away with saying half the things you do.”

Merlin tried to hide his grin by ducking is head and scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah…” he laughed, “but he deserves to be called out on being a prat.”

“And were anyone else to say so would result in either banishment, or at least a stay in the dungeons,” Gaius pointed out, tone halfway between exasperated and amused.

“Then there’s the whole magic thing,” Lancelot said slowly, his humor fading into sincerity. “By all rights, Arthur could have killed you that day, and the law would have been on his side.”

Merlin felt his chest tighten at the memory of complete betrayal on Arthur’s face.

“The fact that you still possess your head, that you haven’t been burned or hanged….” Gaius continued, preventing Merlin from drowning in his thoughts, “says a great deal about Arthur’s feelings for you.”

“Arthur isn’t good with feelings,” Merlin drawled, mind still half in the past. “Not unless they’re angry.”

“Well,” Gaius said with a small chuckle, “he does seem to be making quite a mess of it, doesn’t he?”

Merlin frowned in confusion as Lancelot’s smile widened. “Making a mess of what?”

Gaius sighed heavily, half-heartedly tossing his arms in the air in defeat before turning Lancelot. “I’m beginning to get the feeling that if we don’t lay it out for them, neither is going to figure it out.”

“Lay what out?” Merlin asked, standing and crossing his arms. He tried to look intimidating, but judging by the looks both Gaius and Lancelot were giving him, it wasn’t working.

“Arthur’s in love with you, Merlin,” Lancelot said simply, smile soft.

Merlin’s jaw clicked as it fell open. He stared at his friends, waiting for the punchline, but neither said a word. They just stood there, looking expectant, waiting on Merlin’s reaction.

He squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head, and gripped his hair, nails scraping at his sweaty scalp. “You’ve gone mental. Arthur barely admits that he’s my friend.”

Lancelot shrugged, undeterred by Merlin’s argument. “Like you said, Arthur isn’t good with feelings unless he’s angry. And honestly, he usually deals with those feelings using a sword.”

“Quite effectively, at that,” Gaius added. Merlin couldn’t disagree. He began to pace, eyes looking over the room but not really taking anything in. Arthur was not in love with him. People do not show love with arguments and well-aimed goblets and pillows.

“You say Arthur’s blinded to his uncle’s transgressions because of his love and loyalty to his family,” Lancelot said, “Have you ever stopped to think about why you’ve been able to get away with so much?”

Merlin stopped pacing. “What are you saying?”

Lancelot reached forward and pulled a cobweb from behind Merlin’s ear. “That maybe his father and uncle aren’t the only ones protected by Arthur’s love and loyalty.”

“But he’s in love with Gwen,” Merlin said, not liking the feeling bouncing about in his chest. He couldn’t name it, and was honestly too scared to try.

“Is he? Or are they just friends?” Lancelot countered.

“Or is it you wanting them to be just friends?” Merlin countered right back. If Lancelot was going to investigate Merlin’s relationships, then the Knight’s were fair game as well.

Lancelot’s smile fell, but only a fraction. “My feelings for Guinevere are no secret. Not to myself, nor to her. Unlike you and Arthur, I find no trouble in understanding and sharing how I feel.”

Merlin was unimpressed. “What happened to all that he’s the better man rubbish?” Merlin asked, before catching on to the rest of what Lancelot had just said. “Wait. What do you mean ‘unlike you and Arthur’? What do my feelings have to do with this?”

This time there was no amusement in Gaius’ tired sigh. He shook his head and sat down on the vacant bench. “Merlin, sometimes I wonder how you’ve made it this far in life with the little sense the gods have given you.”

Merlin wasn’t an idiot. He wasn’t. No matter what anyone said. He’d admit he was naïve when it came to certain things, but inexperience and ignorance were not the same as stupidity. And while he might not have a great deal of experience dealing with love of the romantic variety, he wasn’t completely innocent. Admittedly, his and Arthur’s relationship was unusual, but strangeness did not immediately translate to romance.

Yes, Arthur had been acting differently, but that was because of Merlin’s magic, because things had changed. That feeling in his chest began to stir again, and Merlin began to feel a sense of panic. And anger.

He shook his head again, angrily swiping away the sweat that trickled down his temple, and stormed to the door. “I know you’re trying to help, or…something,” he said, pulling so hard on the door, that the hinges rattled. “But I’m pretty certain I would know how I feel better than either of you.”

He slammed the door before either could respond.

It wasn’t until he reached the bottom of the stairwell that he realized he had no idea where to go. The boy with the water skins was probably still in line at the well. Leon and Gwaine were most likely tending to their own last minute duties, and Arthur was probably still meeting with his uncle about what was to happen while they were gone.

Everything Merlin needed to tend to was still in the room he had just left.

The courtyard was crowded now, the late hour allowing people to go about their business without the torment of the blazing sun. Merlin glanced back up the stairs, his teeth worrying his chapped lips as he tried to decide what he was going to do.

That weird feeling was still stirring about his chest, reminding him too much of fear and hope. Before he could talk himself out of it, he turned around and started walking, his destination being anywhere but upstairs with Gaius, Lancelot, and their conversations.

Merlin wasn’t really certain where he was going, but he must have looked determined because people simply moved out of his way as he made his way through the castle’s halls and corridors. It wasn’t until he nearly collided with a timid looking maid that Merlin stopped walking and looked around.

He was standing across from Arthur’s chambers. The door was ajar, allowing shadows to dance along the stone floor as someone moved about inside.

Merlin steeled himself, squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and barged in, determined to face Arthur as always, just like he would have thirty minutes ago, before Lancelot and Gaius went putting foolish thoughts in his head.

Only Arthur wasn’t in the room, and the shadows did not belong to the Prince. Guinevere startled as Merlin entered the chambers, but other than a slight jump, she continued to stuff the bed’s dirty sheets into a worn, wicker basket.

“Hello, Merlin,” she greeted with her usual soft smile, swiftly stripping the pillows from their cases. “Are you all about ready to leave?”

“Nearly,” he lied, choosing to ignore the unpacked food and missing water skins. “Are those clean sheets?” he asked, pointing to the pile of neatly folded linens stacked near the basket.

“Yes,” she beamed, her smile widening and turning proud. “Adriana and I took a few basketfuls down to the lake. It was a bit of work, hot as a furnace, but we managed to get them clean.” She reached down and grabbed one of the folded pillow cases, shaking it loose before displaying it proudly. “The King’s sheets have been needing changing, but with laundry restricted, well…” She shrugged, her cheeks turning pink as she gently smoothed the wrinkles out of the soft linen. “I couldn’t allow dirty sheets to go on the King’s bed.”

“Nor on Arthur’s,” Merlin added, giving a smile that felt somehow forced. “I’m sure he appreciates all you’ve done for him, Gwen. For him and Uther.”

Gwen’s blush spread, “Well, it is my duty,” she said primly, grabbing one of the stripped pillows and stuffing it inside the newly laundered case.

“Not many servants would volunteer to tend to a broken hearted king,” Merlin pointed out.

“Well, I’m more than a servant, aren’t I?” she asked, trying to sound assertive, but seeming unsure. “I’m Arthur’s friend.”

Merlin stared at her, Lancelot’s words rattling about in his head. This morning, if anyone had asked, Merlin would have been firm in his belief that Arthur loved Gwen, and vice versa. But Lancelot…the Knight was truly the best of them all, noble in ways that blood couldn’t account for. If Lancelot was willing to express his feelings for Guinevere, then he must truly believe that Arthur was no longer interested.

But what about Gwen?

Merlin grabbed the folded sheet and shook it open. Forcing himself to be calm as he began tucking the edges of the sheet beneath the mattress, he asked as casually as he could, “Is that all you are? A friend I mean?”

When he looked up, it was to find Gwen staring at him with a tilted head and a soft, crooked smile. It was a look she had shared with him many times before, and Merlin recognized it to be the one she wore when she knew a secret and was about to talk about it.

Gwen grabbed the top sheet from the floor, deftly unfolded it and spread it evenly with a practiced flick of her wrist. Merlin could smell lavender and something more earthy as the sheet popped open before slowly falling into place. “Oh, Merlin,” she began, sounding equal parts amused and pitying. “That is all I am. A very good friend, and nothing more. You have no need to worry, you have my word.”

Merlin froze where he was at the foot of the bed, his fingers loosely gripping the heavy red fabric of Arthur’s top blanket. That was not the reaction he had expected. “Why would I be worried?” he asked, sounding as confused as he felt.

Gwen blushed again. She avoided eye contact as she pulled the blanket from Merlin’s loose grip. “Well, because of you and Arthur,” she said, all her focus seemingly on getting the blanket to lay flat and wrinkle free. “You’re more than friends. Aren’t you?” she asked, sounding shy and unsure, almost timid as though she were overstepping her bounds.

“That seems to be the popular opinion,” Merlin muttered dryly.

Gwen stopped fluffing pillows and looked at Merlin, a little wrinkle forming between her eyebrows as she frowned at him. “Are you not, er…that is, aren’t the two of you…”

“In love?” Merlin asked, tone still unenthusiastic. “Not that I’m aware, no.”

The blush had spread down past Gwen’s collar bone, but now her eyes looked sad. “Have you spoken to Arthur about this?”

Merlin laughed, eyes rolling as he turned and plopped down on the freshly made bed. Gwen stepped forward and peered down at him, that wrinkle still between her brow. “I feel like I’ve missed something,” she said, as she sat next to him, her hip bumping his.

Merlin sighed and looked up at the ceiling over Arthur’s bed. “You and me both.”

“Merlin,” Gwen began, stopping as though she was unsure what to say.

“Does everyone think we’re together?” he asked, filling the awkward silence. “Is everyone gossiping about the Prince and his manservant?”

“Honestly, no,” Gwen told him, sounding sincere. “At least, not that I’ve heard.”

“Then why does everyone think Arthur and I are…” he felt embarrassed just thinking about it, and knew by the way his ears were burning that he was blushing as well…”together?”

“Probably because of the way the two of you are with one another,” she explained. “Merlin, you have to admit, you and Arthur are incredibly close.”

“That’s because we’re friends, Gwen,” Merlin told her, turning on his side and propping his head on his hand. “Really good friends, whether he’s allowed to admit it or not.”

“Merlin, you and I are really good friends,” she said, voice soft. “You and Arthur, you’re closer than that. You’re…inseparable. And everyone sees it. Maybe it’s not romantic, but you do love one another. The way you look at one another sometimes…You cannot tell me otherwise.” She smiled, and patted his arm before climbing off the bed, leaving Merlin to ponder over her words.

Did Merlin love Arthur? Well, yes, as much as a friend could love another. Gwen was right about that. But what about Lancelot and Gaius? They’re opinion seemed to be that Merlin and Arthur’s love was of the romantic variety.

Which was just absurd. 

For one, nothing Arthur had done had ever hinted at love. Arthur had a weirdly possessive streak, but that was just a character flaw, not a sign of adoration.

Besides, Merlin was very much male. And while relations between two men wasn’t unheard of, Arthur always seemed attracted to women, albeit a good number of said women had to enchant him first…

The sound of empty plates clattering together drew Merlin’s attention back to Gwen. She was busily stacking dirty dishes atop the wicker basket that was already overflowing with Arthur’s dirty sheets and laundry.

Merlin sat up and looked around the suddenly clean chambers. “Why are you cleaning Arthur’s room?”

Gwen dusted old crumbs off the table and shrugged. “I figured you’d be busy getting things sorted for your trip, and I wanted to help any way I could. And, well, Arthur wanted a moment with his father. I figured I’d give them a bit of privacy.”

Merlin hopped off the bed. “Arthur’s finished with Agravaine?”

“Yes,” Gwen said, balancing the heavy basket on her hip. “He’s in his father’s chambers.”

Merlin muttered a hasty goodbye to Gwen, thanking her as he nearly jogged out the door. He’d tell Arthur, Arthur would laugh, make some manly display to prove he didn’t suffer from something as mundane as feelings, and then all these silly rumors and assumptions would be put to rest.

The door to the King’s chambers was open, but Merlin didn’t go inside. He stood near the doorway, his hands clasped behind his back as he looked in on his Prince and King. They were sitting near the opened window, the setting sun basking the room in a haunting mixture of blue and orange light, making the shadows on both men’s faces seem darker, aging them.

Merlin couldn’t hear what was being said as Arthur leaned in and continued to speak to his father, his voice low. Uther turned away, his face hidden. Whether or not the King spoke to his son, Merlin couldn’t tell, but as Arthur stood and began walking towards him, Merlin could see the sag in Arthur’s shoulders.

“We ready to go?” Arthur asked as he approached Merlin, sounding not the least bit surprised to see him standing there.

“Nearly,” Merlin answered, falling into step with Arthur. “Food’s in my chambers, just have to finish packing it, and the boy with the water skins should be back soon.”

Arthur nodded, mumbled “good”, and continued to walk. His face was pinched, and as Merlin stared, he could see the muscle in Arthur’s jaw bounce as he gritted his teeth. It was a bad habit of Arthur’s, one he usually entertained when he was upset.

Merlin wasn’t even aware of thinking it, let alone offering, but when the sound of teeth grinding together could be heard over their footsteps, he asked, “Do you want a hug?”

Arthur’s face twisted into a look of surprised dislike. “No, I do not want a hug,” he said firmly, glancing at Merlin like he was crazy.

“Fine,” Merlin said, not taking offense. They continued to walk in silence for a few moments before Arthur’s face scrunched up again and he asked, “….why are you always trying to hug me?”

Merlin spluttered. “I’m not always trying to hug you!”

“You’ve tried to hug me twice since I’ve met you.”

“Twice equates always, does it?”

“Answer the question.”

Merlin slowed his walking, forcing Arthur to do the same. “I don’t…it’s just a gesture, alright. It’s…I don’t know…it makes you feel good. If you’re feeling sad, or excited, or scared, or happy, or just…it’s a hug.” Merlin shrugged his shoulders and admitted, “You looked sad, so I thought you needed cheering up.”

“And you thought a hug from you would do the trick?” Arthur asked, his voice full of false bravado and prattish sneering.

Merlin grinned. “I can fetch Gwaine if you think he’d do a better job?”

Arthur laughed, and pushed Merlin hard. But instead of letting Merlin stagger as he had in the past, Arthur kept a tight grip on Merlin’s arm, tugging him forward and keeping him near. Merlin’s grin faltered.

That feeling in his chest was hope. And he didn’t like it one bit.

***

Leon and Gwaine were already waiting in Gaius’ chambers when Merlin and Arthur arrived. Leon was sending off the young boy Merlin had sent to fill the water skins. Gwaine was leaning against Gaius’ work table, perusing the opened medicine kit as he popped a large chunk of cheese into his mouth.

"Does this actually work?” he mumbled, cheek swollen with cheese. He picked up a small pot from the opened kit and lifted the cork, frowning at the thick, brown poultice inside.

“If you know how to use it,” Gaius answered, taking the pot and gently putting it back where it belonged. Gwaine continued to eat his cheese.

“I want us all ready to go by the end of the hour,” Arthur announced, studying the packed bags full of supplies currently taking up the entirety of the dinner table. “Nothing identifying. If it can tie us to Camelot, it stays behind.”

“I’ve got us each a sword, simple, no markings,” Leon said, gesturing towards the table. Merlin could just see the hilt of a sword sticking out from between two bags. “They’re nothing fancy, but strong.”

“Merlin divvied up the food. We’re each to carry a bit, make the load lighter for the horses,” Lancelot added. Merlin glanced at Lancelot, and felt a hint of gratitude that the man was acting as though Merlin’s earlier dramatics hadn’t happened, there was no mention of he and Gaius having to finish packing because Merlin had stormed off in a moment of angry, confused, panic. Lancelot caught Merlin looking and gave a small, friendly smile, but otherwise staid in the corner, arms crossed.

“And what about this one? What’s it do?” Gwaine asked. Merlin turned just in time to see Gwaine uncork a small vial and sniff the contents inside.

Gwaine was deadly with a sword, and Merlin was willing to bet that was the only reason the Knight was still alive, because common sense wasn’t a trait Gwaine seemed to have been blessed with. No sooner had Gwaine’s nose neared the vial’s opening, then he began to stagger, his head wobbling on his neck.

Gaius stormed around the table, grabbed the vial from Gwaine’s suddenly loose grip, and slapped the Knight upside the head. “This is a potent sedative,” Gaius explained, frowning at Gwaine’s dazed look. “It’ll send the patient, and idiots stupid enough to smell it, straight into unconsciousness.”

“Get your act together, Gwaine,” Arthur ordered, grabbing a bag from the table and shoving it into Gwaine’s arms. “Let’s get this down to the stables.”

Gwaine just shook his head from side to side, eyes blinking owlishly as he tried to fight the sedative’s effects. Merlin smirked and grabbed his bag to leave, but stopped when Leon blocked his way, a sword held out before him.

Merlin looked at the offered weapon, one eyebrow cocked in question. “What am I supposed to do with that?”

Leon grinned. “Not stab yourself, would be my first suggestion.” Merlin laughed, but pushed the hilt aside, “Very funny. We both know I don’t need that, and were I to actually use it, it probably wouldn’t be very effective.”

“No,” Leon agreed, though he didn’t move aside. “I’ll admit it’d be mostly for show, but we all discussed it and we all agreed, you’re carrying a sword.” He reached forward and grabbed Merlin’s wrist, forcing the hilt into his hand. “If we’re lucky, you won’t even have to use it.”

Merlin stood there as the Knights filed out of the room. He adjusted the bag on his shoulder and gripped the sword tighter, hating the awkward feel of it. “When are ever lucky?”

***

The leaves had long since fallen from the trees, leaving behind a canopy of fractured branches as the group made their way through the forest. This late into the year, the leaves would usually begin to change color, bright oranges and yellows swallowing the treetops. By Arthur’s calculations, it should still be several weeks before the leaves were due to fall, or would be, were it not for the drought.

“It’s like we never left summer,” Gwaine observed, his head tilted back as he looked at the stars peeking through the dying branches. “You reckon it really could be caused by magic?”

“Gaius doesn’t think so,” Merlin said. “But, he’s been wrong before.”

Arthur turned towards Merlin’s voice. The moon was waxing, the light minimal. They had left Camelot a few hours ago, though no one could ever tell judging by the short distance.  Merlin’s skin looked almost translucent in the low light. Arthur could see his exposed arms and he watched as bony wrists twisted when they adjusted the reins, as his hand would unconsciously adjust the sword as it bounced on his hip with each step.

“I know the villagers said they saw this magically floating blue egg across the border,” Gwaine said, drawing everyone’s attention back to him. Arthur turned around, and he could just make out a smile on Gwaine’s face as the Knight stared back. “But did anyone bother to actually get exact directions? Unless you plan on walking the entire length of Camelot and Essetir’s border, we might need a specific location.”

“Part way between Russiton and the old temple,” Lancelot said, cutting off any sarcastic reply the other men might have had. “Near the drop off at Clear Creek.”

“We’re passing through Russiton?” Merlin asked, turning to look towards Arthur. Arthur just smiled, and nodded.

“Don’t worry, Merlin. We won’t pass that close to Ealdor and not say hello to your mother.”

Even in the dim light, Arthur could make out Merlin’s wide smile.

***

 It was nearing dawn when they came upon the river. The banks were jagged, the exposed clay along the receded water line was dry and cracked. Arthur looked on at the river’s calm water and the slow ripples formed by its leisurely flow and frowned. Any other time, the roar of the river would be heard long before it was seen. The water had gained a reputation for being rough, fast, and dangerous to cross during times of heavy rain or melting snow.

There were normally few points where one could cross the river safely, but looking at the water below and the way it more closely resembled a creek rather than a river, Arthur knew they would have no trouble in crossing.

“Let’s rest here,” he said, dismounting his horse and leading her to the water’s edge. He saw the others do the same. Merlin and Gwaine could be heard talking to their horses while Lancelot quietly smoothed his gelding’s flanks, easing the twitching muscles as the horse drank. Leon walked forward, his horse perfectly content to stay near the water without supervision, and adjusted the sword on his hip.

“My Lord,” he began, inclining his head forward, “we haven’t made much distance.”

Arthur watched as his horse’s muzzle dipped into the dark water. “I know. We can’t move fast during the night. Not when we can’t see where we’re going.”

Leon shifted on his feet and glanced around, scanning the trees nervously.

“Leon…” Arthur prompted, curious about what was on Leon’s mind. Leon looked back around, licked his lips and asked, “What about Merlin?”

“What about Merlin?” Arthur echoed, eyes immediately going to his manservant. Merlin was digging in his pack, completely unaware he was being watched.

“Couldn’t he…I mean,” Leon began, and Arthur could tell immediately by Leon’s hesitation what he was about to suggest. “Couldn’t he use his magic? Make it easier to see?”

The memory of a floating light and a darkened cave came to mind, but Arthur shook his head. “No,” he said sternly.

“My Lord,” Leon began, but stopped when Arthur shook his head.

“We can’t, Leon,” Arthur explained. “If someone were to see…,” he paused and looked back at Merlin who was busy handing pieces of dried apple to his mare. “Magic is still illegal. Were Merlin to be found out, were it to be known that I knew and did nothing, we would all be punished.”

Leon stared at Arthur, his face serious and far too studious for Arthur’s liking. Finally, after an uncomfortably long moment, Leon looked away, his eyes finding Merlin. “I swore an oath to your father many years ago. And under that oath, I have witnessed many horrors involving magic, I have carried out horrors as well. But I have also seen miracles.” Leon looked back at Arthur. “We may not care for him the way you do, My Lord, but Merlin is our friend, too. And there is not a fiber of my being that believes him to be evil.” Leon gave Arthur a reassuring smile. “Do not put all the responsibility on yourself, Sire. We may have sworn loyalty to you, but it is not the only reason we guard Merlin’s secret.”

“And we’ve already discussed it amongst ourselves,” Lancelot said, stepping forward. Leon and Arthur both turned, surprised that they hadn’t seen him approach. “We all know the risks, we know what’s at stake.”

Arthur wasn’t sure what to say, so he just smiled. “You might want to tell Merlin that. I’m pretty sure he still feels like we might change our minds.”

“Merlin knows how we feel,” Lancelot assured him. “But what about you? Have you told him how you feel?”

Arthur pulled on his horse’s reins and started to lead her back up the bank. “Merlin knows I’m not going to betray him.”

“That’s not what we meant, Sire,” Leon called after him. Arthur turned back and frowned at the two smiles staring back. “What do you—“ he began to ask, only to be stopped by Gwaine calling out. “What’s the plan? We going to keep going? Stay here? What?”

Lancelot and Leon both rolled their eyes. “We’ll run out of supplies before we reach the border if we only move at night,” Leon said loud enough for Merlin and Gwaine to hear. “We can’t see the path, the horses can’t see where they’re going. It’s too dangerous.”

“So is the sun,” Gwaine countered as he walked up the bank, Merlin right behind him. “The heat will kill us and the horses if we ride during the peak hours.”

“Then we don’t ride during the peak hours,” Arthur declared simply. “We’ll rest when the sun’s at its highest point and during the worst of the night, travel the rest of the time. We’ll let the horses rest for an hour or so, then move on.”

“Great,” Gwaine declared, promptly pulling his tunic over his head and letting it fall to the ground. “I’m going to take a bath.”

“You’re going to what?” Merlin asked as Gwaine began to toe off his boots.

“Take a bath,” Gwaine said with a wide smile. “And no offense, mates, but you all could do with a good scrub yourselves.”

As Gwaine walked away busily working his belt loose, Arthur and the others stared at one another.

“You were complaining just yesterday about wanting a bath,” Merlin pointed out, watching as Gwaine tossed his trousers and boots into a pile by a tree.

“This isn’t exactly what I had in mind,” Arthur said, but he was already thinking about how good it would feel to just soak for a while.

A few short minutes later, the horses were all tied off and all five men jumped in the river. They stayed there until the sun began to rise.

***

Merlin was sitting with his back against a tree as he chewed on a dry piece of bread. His boots were sitting beside him, his bare feet tucked under his knees. His hair was still drenched, sending little rivulets of water down his neck onto his collar.

Gwaine was laid out on the ground, shirt still off and, judging by the snoring, sound asleep. Leon had wandered into to the woods a few minutes earlier, and Arthur was busy checking his horse’s feet.

“I think we put all the dried venison in your pack,” Lancelot said, offering Merlin a water skin. Merlin, mouth full of bread, accepted the water with a closed lipped smile and gestured to his pack.

“I think Arthur wants to leave within the next ten minutes or so,” Lancelot told him as he stuck his hand in Merlin’s bag and began to rummage around. “So, if you need to tend to any perso—what’s this?”

Merlin looked up as Lancelot pulled the spell book from the bag. “The spell book,” Merlin said slowly, “You’ve seen it before.”

Lancelot stuffed the book back in the bag and looked over his shoulder towards Arthur. “Does Arthur know you have it?”

Merlin tossed the burnt end of the bread into the dead grass. “He made me show him when he first learned about my magic,” Merlin said, frowning in confusion. “You know this. You were there.”

“I meant, does he know you have it _here_?” Lancelot whispered. Merlin shrugged.

Lancelot sat down beside Merlin and frowned, but kept his tone light. “I thought we were traveling incognito? Nothing identifying?”

“The book isn’t going to tell people we’re of Camelot.”

“No, but it will tell them that you’re a sorcerer,” Lancelot pointed out. “And Arthur knowing or not, that’s still one hell of a secret. The King isn’t the only one who equates magic with evil.”

Merlin leaned forward and tugged his bag towards him. He cast a careful glance around to make sure the others weren’t looking before pulling the book out of the bag. He stared at the cover, eyes focused as he thought of the numerous books Gaius kept on botany and medicine with their plain, drab covers, and released his magic.

His vision flashed gold and then the book shifted like water rippling, and the book’s ornate clasps disappeared, leaving behind a rather dull looking cover. Merlin flipped the book open, the page revealing nothing more than a rather detailed description of belladonna and its uses.

Holding the book up for Lancelot to see, Merlin grinned. “It won’t last forever, but pretty good, yeah?”

“I thought you said you’d already looked and there wasn’t anything in the book about controlling the weather,” Lancelot asked, taking the book and trying to see past the illusion. “Why’d you bring it?”

Merlin took another sip of water, swished it around his mouth. “We might need it,” he defended. He leaned his head back against the tree and sighed. “With our luck, we’re bound to run into something weird, and past experience has taught me it’s better to be prepared.”

Lancelot nodded and handed the book back. “Then why are you hiding it from Arthur?”

Merlin could feel the good mood brought on by the swim in the river and full belly disappearing. “Because he’s still scared of it.”

“Of your magic?” Lancelot asked disbelievingly. “Merlin, he’s asked you to use it.”

“I know!” Merlin said a little too loudly, causing Gwaine to snort awake. “I know,” Merlin continued, much more quietly, “but knowing about it and asking me to light a fire or fix a cut doesn’t mean he trusts me to use it without question. I can do little things, small tricks and what not, but…if he isn’t expecting it, or if I do something…big, it makes him uncomfortable. I can tell. It still scares him.”

Lancelot sat quietly, watching as Leon returned from the woods and began talking to Arthur. “I told you he trusts you, Merlin. He was telling Leon and me as much earlier.”

“Maybe he trusts me, but it doesn’t mean he trusts my magic,” Merlin said. He stood up and dusted the seat of his trousers.

Lancelot gave Merlin a sad look, but didn’t say anything. Merlin pulled his boots back on and strapped his bag back on his horse’s saddle. By the time he was finished, the others had done the same and they were on their way.

***

All Arthur could smell was the sweat of the horses and the oil from the saddles. The sun was nearing its peak, and they had finally found a place to camp that would shade them from the worst of the sun’s rays.

It was a deep gorge hidden between two cliff facings about a four hour ride from the river. Arthur had tied his horse to a tree and was now removing her saddle as an apology for pushing her too far. Whether or not the horse was grateful, she didn’t show it. She simple tested the limit of her rope and bent down to eat the dried leaves littering the forest floor.

Normally, they wouldn’t remove the saddles, the risk of danger and the need for a quick escape too great. But the heat showed no mercy, and the last thing they needed was for their horses to die.

Out of habit, Arthur looked for Merlin, finding him a few trees down.

“You know, Princess, none of us would judge you,” Gwaine whispered as he set his saddle down beside Arthur’s.

Arthur’s brow creased in confusion. “Judge me for what?”

Gwaine smiled. “Merlin,” was his answer.

Leon was standing about a meter away, head down as he tried to hide his smile. Lancelot was untying his bedroll, and though he wasn’t trying to hide his smile, he was keeping an eye on Merlin, keeping watch, insuring Merlin couldn’t hear.

Arthur hesitated. “….I think I missed an important part of this conversation.”

“Seems to me you missed more than that,” Gwaine said. He was still smiling as he leaned against the tree.

“I think there used to be a creek running through here,” Merlin announced. He was carrying one of the large, wooden handled brushes the stable boys used to groom the horses. “It’s completely dried up!”

As soon as Merlin stepped forward, all three Knights stopped smiling. Each adopted an easy going expression and acted as though they had been doing nothing more than preparing to set up camp.

Arthur wasn’t having it. “Merlin, why don’t you go walk the perimeter?” he asked, mimicking the other’s nonchalant attitude. “Scout it out before we settle in.”

Merlin stopped mid-step and stared at Arthur, blinking slowly. “You want _me_ to scout?” he asked, using the brush to point to himself.

Arthur raised an eyebrow and looked around, “Is there another Merlin here?”

Merlin’s eyes narrowed. “Why me?”

“You know, anyone else wouldn’t question it,” Arthur said shortly as he bent forward and jerked his bag from the ground. “They’d just say, ‘Yes, Sire,’ and they’d do it.”

Merlin opened his mouth, but quickly shut it, eyes shifting from suspicious to accusing as he looked towards Lancelot. Arthur was even more confused.

“Today would be nice,” Arthur snapped, earning a frown from Gwaine. Merlin’s mouth was a tight line when he looked back at Arthur. “Who’ll tend the horses?” he asked, holding up the brush.

“We can handle it,” Arthur said, reaching forward and taking the brush from Merlin. Merlin stood there a moment longer, staring at Arthur before shaking his head and storming off. Arthur watched as Merlin grabbed the sword he had thrown aside when they first arrived and began to climb back up the small incline towards the path.

The moment he was out of sight, Arthur turned towards the three Knights. “Alright, what the hell are you all talking about?”

“That was the definition of subtle, mate,” Gwaine drawled.

“Someone start talking. Now,” Arthur ordered. As soon as Gwaine opened his mouth, Arthur pointed a finger at him and shook his head. “No, someone other than you start talking.”

Arthur wanted a no-nonsense, straight to the point answer. And that’s just what he got when Lancelot bluntly asked, “What are your feelings towards Merlin?”

“Is this about his magic?” Arthur sneered, lip curled. “Haven’t we already discussed this? Why does everyone continue to think I’m about to have him beheaded?! In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve done everything I can to insure that doesn’t happen!”

Lancelot waved off Gwaine who looked as though he had something to say, and said calmly, “It’s not about his magic, though that is something you need to talk with him about. We’re talking about your intentions towards Merlin.”

“Romantic intentions,” Leon clarified gently, smirking at Arthur’s stunned look. Arthur felt his face go slack before he realized what was going on. “Very funny,” he laughed, tilting his head back as his shoulders softly shook with suppressed laughter. “But this isn’t exactly the best time for games.”

“This isn’t a game, Arthur,” Lancelot insisted. Arthur’s laugh died slowly as he took in the serious expressions on his friends’ faces.

Gwaine stepped forward, ignoring the way Lancelot placed a warning hand on his shoulder. “What they’re failing to ask is whether you’re planning to bugger the man.”

“Excuse me?” Arthur spluttered, only to be ignored as Lancelot rolled his eyes and turned to Gwaine. “Tact, Gwaine. We’ve talked about this. The situation requires tact.”

“You’ve talked about this?!” Arthur hissed.

Gwaine threw his hands in the air and declared exasperatedly, “It needs to be talked about!”

“I do not make a habit of sleeping with servants,” Arthur told them pointedly. “I would not abuse my power like that.”

“We’re not suggesting you would, Sire,” Leon assured him. “And we’re not talking about a quick tumble just for fun either. We’re talking about love.”

Arthur stepped back, the dried twigs and leaves crunching under his boots.  “Love?” he scoffed, eyes wide. He shook his head in denial “Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

“Okay, maybe we’re wrong,” Lancelot suggested in a placating tone, “It’s not love. Then what is it? Please, Arthur, explain to us how you feel about Merlin?”

“He’s my manservant,” Arthur stated obviously.

“That’s not a feeling,” Gwaine pointed out impatiently.

Arthur sighed and stared down at the brush in his hands. It was covered in dust and old horse hair, the strands sticking to his sweaty hands. “He’s my friend,” he amended, remembering late night conversations about responsibility and expectations, quests involving unicorns and crazy old men, a poisoned chalice and a guiding light. “I feel for him the same way I’d feel for all my friends.”

“No offense, My Lord,” Leon smirked, “but you’ve never looked at me the way you look at Merlin.”

“And just how do I look at Merlin?” Arthur challenged, his face tightening into a frown, his arms crossed.

“Longingly,” Gwaine answered, swatting at a bug crawling up his neck. He had resumed his leaned back stance near the tree, his shoulders relaxed. “With a touch of lust.”

Arthur felt a growing sense of claustrophobia, and took another step back. Immediately, he looked to the slope at the opening of the gorge where Merlin had left, but Merlin wasn’t back yet. He straightened his posture, eyes hard and warned, “You’ll do well to watch what you say.”

“Arthur, do you not see how you are with him?” Lancelot asked sincerely. “You’re constantly staring at him, you always want him nearby…”

“Touching him,” Gwaine interrupted, eyebrow raised daring Arthur to deny it.

“I’m not always touching him,” Arthur began to deny, trying to keep a straight face. He _had_ been touching Merlin lately. He wasn’t always aware of it initially, but it had been happening.

“You give him clemency that no others have been granted,” Leon added. “You’ve committed treason for him, My Lord. More than once.”

“Well, yes,” Arthur admitted reluctantly, “but…that’s not love.”

“Well what would you call it then?” Lancelot asked simply.

“I…” Arthur’s mind went blank. He’d call it friendship, or he would have before, but he’s just plainly had it explained to him that it’s not. “I don’t know,” Arthur mumbled, throat dry. He cleared his throat and said more again, “I don’t know what it is.”

The three Knights each gave Arthur a pitying look, much to Arthur’s annoyance.

“I’m not stupid,” he informed them somewhat loudly, causing his horse to look up, her ears twitching.

“Stupid, no,” Gwaine agreed as he swaggered forward, that look of pity morphing into a crooked grin. “But as far as this goes,” he twirled a finger in the air which Arthur could only guess meant his status with Merlin, “you are completely ignorant.”

“But you’re not the only one,” Lancelot added helpfully. Arthur’s next question was interrupted by the sound of dried leaves crunching and a branch snapping. All four men looked up in time to see a glaring Merlin emerge over the edge of the gorge.

“Perimeter’s clear,” Merlin called from over head, looking down. He was holding the sword loosely, the tip pointing towards the ground. “Have you lot finished talking about me, yet?”

No one answered.

Arthur turned away and forcefully tossed the horse brush to Gwaine, who caught it easily. There wasn’t much conversation after that. Everyone moved about, setting up a makeshift camp. Bed rolls were laid close enough to the cliff wall to be in the shade, but far enough away to avoid any falling rocks.

Gwaine, who had volunteered for first watch, was making his way uphill when Merlin walked up to Arthur with a determined stride. Lancelot purposely moved his bedroll further away, Leon was already snoring.

“Arthur,” Merlin whispered. “What did they say to you?”

Arthur kneeled down and focused on clearing away stray stones and twigs from beneath his bedroll. “Nothing of importance,” he murmured distractedly, flicking a rock out of the way.

Arthur wasn’t looking directly at Merlin, but he was willing to bet his manservant had his head tilted in annoyance, jaw jutted out. There was an aggravated sigh, a moment’s pause, and then Merlin dropped down beside Arthur, leaning forward so that Arthur had no choice but to look at him. “Arthur—”

“What was said was between me and my Knights, Merlin,” Arthur cut him off. Never before had he been uncomfortable making eye contact with Merlin, but now his brain kept going back to the Knight’s accusations, and the feelings they had stirred.  As Merlin’s pleading look slowly changed to one of concern, Arthur felt a sudden paranoia that Merlin could read his mind. He quickly looked away, brushed a spider off of his bedroll, and laid down, his back to Merlin.

He could feel Merlin still kneeling behind him. “Get some sleep, Merlin,” he ordered, eyes closed, arms folded across his chest.

Merlin shifted, the leaves cracking beneath his knees. “Are we okay?”

Arthur looked over his shoulder to see Merlin, brow pinched and mouth pressed into a thin line. “We’re fine,” he assured him, the corner of his mouth lifting into an encouraging smile. “Now get some sleep. We’re to get moving again in a few hours.”

Merlin gave him another look that made Arthur feel like his mind was being read before nodding curtly and walking to the bedroll laid out beside a prone saddle.

Arthur closed his eyes and forced himself not to think. Instead, he listened to the sounds of Leon snoring, of Lancelot shifting about. Birds were calling out, the sound angry and barking. He could feel sweat pooling at the bend of his knees, near the nape of his neck, and along the crack of his arse.

His skin was hot, the way it got when he was sick and feverish. It’d worry him, except that’s how he always felt nowadays.

He was too busy focusing on the way the sunlight could still be seen through his closed eyelids, that he barely had time to register that he was falling asleep, let alone think about Merlin.

***

Were it not for the fact that there was only so much avoidance that can be done within a group of five, Merlin would wager that Arthur were trying to avoid him. Not outright so, but definitely in a roundabout- doesn’t want to be obvious sort of way.

Conversation betwixt the two was scarce from the moment they awoke and began to saddle the horses until the sun began to set. Merlin had no idea what had been said while he had been scouting the perimeter, but judging by the tense, somewhat awkward atmosphere that had taken over the group, and the definite guilty looks the others had adopted, Merlin was willing to bet it was about him.

And Arthur.

He wanted to be angry, and in a way he was. They had no right to be meddling in things that did not concern them. But on the other hand…

Merlin had lain awake during the first two shift changes, the sun moving enough to bathe the majority of the gorge in light, thinking about what could have been said. What Arthur’s reaction could have been.

Arthur had said they were fine, had given him that little smile he usually reserved for when he was trying to reassure Merlin that everything was okay and there was nothing to worry his little head over.

Merlin had wanted to believe him, had _tried_ to believe him. But Arthur was walking two horses in front of him, and other than snapping orders, Arthur had been quiet. And a quiet Arthur was rarely a good thing.

The sky was grey, the sun close enough to the horizon that it was becoming difficult to see the forest floor.  He kept his eyes forward, watching as the shoes on the horse in front of him glinted dully with each step in the waning light.

He rocked in the saddle with the rhythm of his horse’s steps, the sound barely audible on the dirt path. It was nothing like the steady clih-click, clop clih-click, clop that was heard when on cobble stones. It was more of a thu-thud, thu-thud. Like a heartbeat.

Just like a heartbeat.

Merlin closed his eyes and listened to it. He could feel his horse breathing beneath him, the way her right side dipped a little with each step, thu-thud, thu-thud, the product of a limp on her front leg.

Thu-thud, thu-thud.

One of the horses snorted, a soft bray. Gwaine clicked his tongue, urging his horse forward.

Thu-thud, thu-thud.

Merlin’s eyes were still closed, his head tilted forward as he listened to the sounds happening around him. He felt relaxed, really relaxed for the first time in weeks.

What was he worried about? It had something to do with Arthur…

Thu-thud, thu-thud.

Merlin was angry, wasn’t he? He was angry with Arthur. Thu-thud, thu-thud. No, he was angry with Lancelot. Thu-thud.  About Arthur.

There was a breeze, soft and cool against his sunburned, sweaty skin. When was the last time he had felt a breeze? The wind had disappeared long ago, vanishing wherever winter was hiding. It felt nice, refreshing. It gave him goose bumps and shifted the loose hair at the nape of his neck.

Thu-thud.

The air was light, no more of the thick mugginess that had enveloped Camelot. He took a deep breath, tasted salt in the air, something fishy.

The sound of the horse’s steps began to change. The soft thuds morphing into a crunching shift of sand.

But Merlin could still hear the heartbeat. Steady. Thu-thud. Thu-thud.

It was the sound of the waves that didn’t belong. Merlin opened his eyes slowly, his gaze landing on the reins loosely tangled around the saddle’s horn. He looked up, surprised to see that he was no longer in the forest, but on a beach. Alone.

It was no longer twilight, but midday, the sun high in the sky surrounded by clouds that had disappeared long before the wind.

Merlin pulled on the reins, and his horse stopped without complaint. He knew the logical response should be to panic, to wonder about the others and how he came to be on a beach. But Merlin was calm.

He closed his eyes again, the steady thu-thud fainter but still present. The sound wasn’t just in his ears, it was in his head, in his chest. A rhythmic presence that was slightly slower than his own heart.

“I’m dying,” said a voice, deep, raspy and slow. Merlin looked up to see an old man standing before him, tattered sun-bleached robes blowing slightly in the wind. He was bald, wrinkled and covered in sunspots. His nose hairs grew wildly, curling around his nostrils and merging with the remains of a wiry mustache capping a straggly beard.

“I’m sorry?” Merlin asked. He climbed down from his horse, ran his hand along her neck, the other cupping her muzzle.

The man lifted his chin and said again, “I’m dying.”

Thu-thud.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin repeated, this time no longer a question but with genuine regret.

The man smiled, his eyes crinkling. “I know,” he croaked, mouth opening enough for Merlin to see several missing teeth. “It’s who you are.”

Merlin’s brow wrinkled. “You know who I am?”

The old man’s head bobbed once, gnarled hands pulled at the grey beard. “Aye, your mother calls you Merlin.”

“Everyone calls me Merlin,” Merlin pointed out.

The old man’s forehead wrinkled as both eyebrows rose high. “Do they?” he asked, reminding Merlin very much of Kilgharrah. Thinking of the dragon and his ignored call for help reminded Merlin of being angry.

But he was still very much calm.

“Emrys,” Merlin whispered, and the old man nodded.

“The druids call you Emrys, as do I.”

“Are you a druid then?” Merlin asked, but the old man didn’t answer. Merlin watched as the man bent down on shaky legs and scooped up a bit of sand.

“I’m old,” the man whispered, holding the hand with the sand up above his head. “But I’m still young, still have a lot of life in me.” He held his other hand beneath the first and let the sand fall into his palm. “Or I should.”

Merlin stepped forward, mesmerized as the sand swirled in the man’s palm, twisting to form a very real flower. It was purple, the stem standing tall from the center of the man’s hand, the roots tangling, curling around arthritic fingers.

Merlin smiled, the flower was beautiful. He looked up, his smile fading as he saw tears in the old man’s eyes.

“My magic is gone, Emrys.” The man extended his hand towards Merlin, offering him the flower. “I’m dying.”

Merlin shook his head slowly and pointed to the flower. “You just did magic…”

The man smiled sadly, the tears pooling at the edges of his beard. He gestured to the flower, hinting for Merlin to take it. Unsure, Merlin slowly reached forward, but the moment he touched the flower, it turned back to sand.

“I’m dying,” the old man repeated. “The heartbeat’s stopped. Did you hear it?”

“MERLIN!”

Merlin jumped, the strong hand on his arm the only thing keeping him from falling off his horse.

He looked around, heart pounding. He was back in the forest, still in the saddle. It was fully night time now, the sun completely set. The breeze was gone, the thick heat fully around him.

Arthur was standing beside him, his hand wrapped tightly around Merlin’s arm. His hair was plastered to his forehead, the laces on his tunic loosened. He was staring up at Merlin intently, his face worried.

“Sorry,” Merlin mumbled, confused at the sudden change in scenery.

“It’s the heat,” a woman said, causing Merlin to look up. They were no longer alone. There were at least a dozen people standing about. The woman, an elderly lady who looked like she could be Gaius’ age was holding a small torch. “We’ve lost a few good men to it.”

Merlin rubbed the back of his neck, he could feel the tips of ears burning. “I’m fine,” he assured them, his blush growing. He very much did not want to be the center of attention, but Arthur was finally looking at him again.

“You sure?” Arthur asked, squeezing Merlin’s arm.

Merlin’s eyes flicked to the crowd of strangers before looking back at Arthur. “Yeah, just a dream.”

Arthur studied him a moment more before removing his hand. “These travelers have invited us to share their camp.” He gestured to the group with his thumb. “We’ll rest here, set out at first light.”

“We’ve got water,” the elderly woman told them, already turning and walking away, the torch light bobbing with each careful step. “It’s not cold, but it’s clean.”

The camp consisted of one carefully structured fire pit built atop a large pile of sand and several bedrolls spread out before a covered wagon.

Merlin had just sat on a log far from the fire when a young boy came bounding up to him. “Here ya go, Mister. Gran said ya gotta drink this.” The boy thrust a wooden bowl right in Merlin’s face, so close Merlin’s eyes crossed as they tried to focus on the dirty fingernails holding the bowl.

Merlin leaned his head back and accepted the bowl with a smile. The boy didn’t leave. He stood there patiently, arms hanging loosely at his side, dirty hair spiked in too many directions.

“I believe his Gran said you had to drink it,” Gwaine said as he plopped down on the log beside Merlin.

“She did,” the boy confirmed dutifully. “Said the heat was doing his head in.”

“Nothing’s doing my head in,” Merlin grouched, but he raised the bowl to his mouth. He had planned to only take a sip, but as soon as the water touched his tongue, reflex took over and he guzzled the entire bowl.

Gwaine took the empty bowl and handed it back to the boy. “You go tell your Gran we said thanks, yeah?”

The boy gave an answering grin and took off running to the fire pit.

Gwaine waited until they were alone before asking, “You want to tell me what happened back there if it’s not the heat?”

Merlin shook his head, “It was just a dream,” he promised.

He knew it was just a dream, but the smell of the salty air was still in his nose.

***

“Where’d you get the sand?” Arthur toed the edges of the pit with his boot. The sand was light in color, not something to be found in the forests surrounding Camelot. There was bits of leaves and twigs mixed throughout, the odd batch of forest dirt darkening the sand in places.

“Joseph used to bring it in from the sea,” answered the man carefully placing a log onto the fire. He had introduced himself to Arthur as William. “He’d heat it up, make things from it, glass things. He and his wife would travel from town to town to sell ‘em.”

William leaned forward to study the skewered squirrels and rabbit stretched out on the spit, giving it a quarter turn before returning his hands to his pockets. “Comes in mighty handy for stopping the fire from spreading. Keeps it from the leaves and other fuels,” he explained. “We’ve got another sack of it in the wagon. We’ll use it to put the fire out after the food’s done, scoop it up and use it again tomorrow.”

“Smart,” Arthur admitted. His first reaction to seeing the fire in the distance had been an angry one. Even the children back home knew the dangers of a fire in a drought. But the faces that had greeted him when he rode up were friendly and generous, offering them safety in numbers and fresh food. The measures they were going to to insure the fire didn’t spread were a little reassuring, if not fully.

Standing so close to the fire, even such a small one, was uncomfortable. Arthur could feel the heat soaking through his close, the front of his arms and face were burning.

“You might wanna have a lie down, boy,” said the old lady who had been holding the torch. She handed him a bowl of water. “You’re not looking much better than your friend.”

Immediately, Arthur looked for Merlin. He was sitting in the shadows, far from the fire, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands hanging loosely between. He looked exhausted.

“That tall one over there said you had your own food,” the woman pointed towards Leon who was standing with a hand on the hilt of his sword looking uncomfortable and unsure, “but we have some to share.”

Arthur accepted the bowl of water and swished it around in his mouth before swallowing. “That’s very kind of you…” he began, but the woman had already wandered off, her thin hand waving away two small boys who were using sticks as swords.

“She’s the mum of the group,” William offered helpfully. “Too busy taking care of everyone to accept any thanks.”

“It’s a pretty big group,” Arthur observed. There were fourteen men, half as many women and a few children, some so small they still couldn’t walk. “Are you all from the same place?”

“Ah no,” William shook his head as he began removing the meat from the fire. “There used to be more of us, but with this drought…” he trailed off. Sweat was pouring down his forehead as he bent next to the fire, knife cutting through the cooked meat. “We don’t really have a home, not in the traditional sense. We’re travelers, nomads. Some left in hopes they’d find something better, the others died. We’ve picked up a few stragglers over the last few weeks.”

He offered Arthur a sliver of meat with a grin. “I don’t imagine you and your lot will be joining our crew.”

The meat was greasy and hot, and Arthur burnt his tongue. “No,” he laughed, wiping the grease on the leg of his trousers. “We’re just passing through.”

“Most people we’ve encountered are heading _to_ Camelot, not away,” William drawled questioningly. He cast a sidelong look at Arthur, but continued to slice the meat, cutting it into small, sharable portions.

Arthur shrugged vaguely, “Our business isn’t in Camelot.” William stared at him, eyes narrowed, waiting for more information. Eventually, William pursed his lips and nodded. “Alright, then,” he said, tossing a small bone into the darkness, “You’re business is your own. I can appreciate that. We’ve met many people through the years. Everyone has a story, secrets. I have my own. You’ve a right to yours. I won’t pry no more.”

“It’s much appreciated,” Arthur said, earning a smile from William before he changed the subject.

Arthur listened as William explained about the group’s travels, how they made a living and what life was like before the world forgot about winter. He watched as the members of the group showed great kindness and hospitality to his men, offering food and water despite its scarcity.

As William began to explain how they had lost two of their wagons to bandits and thieves, Arthur caught the eye of a young woman across the camp. She had been helping another camper unpack more bowls from an old crate. It was the tickle at the back of his neck, the strange, unnatural sensation of being watched that made Arthur look up and catch her eye, only to have her look away demurely, smile hidden in the shadows.

She was pretty, there was no denying. Though she didn’t have that fierce beauty that Morgana had always possessed, nor that kind, inviting glow of Gwen’s, there was definitely something about the woman that seemed almost exotic.

Without thinking, Arthur turned to find Merlin. He was standing now, laughing as one of the children offered Gwaine a wooden sword, inviting him to duel.

Merlin was pretty, too.

Arthur stiffened and looked back to the fire, eyes wide.

“You okay, son?” William asked, packing the last of the meat onto a wooden tray.

“Yeah, sorry,” Arthur ran his hand through his hair, sweat and dust from the road making an unpleasant texture. “I think it’s the fire. I’m getting too hot.”

He stood, offered his apologies, and walked away, both from the fire and his view of Merlin. He made it to the tree line, ducked behind the wagon, and leaned against the side.  He could feel his heart thrumming, the suddenly quickened pace sending a pulsing pain to his brain.

Turning so that his forehead could lean against the smooth surface of the wagon, Arthur took a deep breath through his nose, held it for a beat, then let it out in a controlled, slow stream. There was no need to freak out, he could handle this.

Couldn’t he?

He cared for Merlin, there was no denying that. He trusted him, enjoyed his company, and generally worried for his well-being. But Arthur felt that way for all of his friends, his Knights, Guinevere…

Arthur turned back around and slid to the ground, stretching his legs out before him as the spokes from the wagon wheel pressed into his shoulder blades.

He could hear people laughing on the other side of the wagon. Various conversations blended together, some serious and worrisome, others friendly and carefree.

Caring for someone did not necessarily equal love, or even attraction. No, the fact that he cared for Merlin was not unusual news.

But the unconscious thoughts that had been passing unbidden through his mind when looking at Merlin were definitely out of the norm.

“Are you feeling alright?” a soft voice asked, startling Arthur and disrupting his thoughts. It was the young woman from before, the one who Arthur had caught staring. “Sorry,” she smiled, “I didn’t mean to startle you. I just…I saw you wander off and I just wanted to check that you were okay.”

“Oh, yeah,” Arthur rubbed the back of his neck and gestured towards the camp with his thumb, “Just the fire, heat was getting to be a bit much, that’s all.”

“I honestly don’t know how William does it,” she laughed, fingers nervously pulling at folds of her skirt. Her dress was simple, but showing a bit too much skin to be classified as modest. Her neckline was loose fitting, swooping down to lay lightly on the rise of her breasts. Her long, dark hair was pulled over one shoulder, leaving the right side of her neck completely exposed. Arthur immediately thought of Merlin’s long neck and felt his face flush. He looked away.

“My name’s Joanna,” she informed him, gathering up her skirt and sitting by his side. She folded her legs, causing her knee to press into his thigh.

“I’m…” he trailed off, no one had bothered asking his name yet, everyone seemingly more worried about whether he and his men were friend or foe.

“Arthur,” she finished for him, causing him to stiffen. She just smiled and placed a calming, overly friendly hand on his knee. “I heard one of your men call you by name.”

“Oh,” he said simply, relieved that rumors of Camelot’s Prince riding into Essetir weren’t about to spread. He smiled tightly and glanced down at her hand, still resting lightly on his knee. He was used to women making bold advances. He had been barely fourteen the first time a barmaid in a neighboring village had squeezed his bum, much to the delight of a then not-yet-knighted Leon.

Arthur had always been careful with his dalliances, cautious of the aftermath. His entire life had consisted of warnings of bastards and disgraced women. Arthur had learned caution long before he mastered a sword.

Joanna continued to talk, her voice soft and low, inviting Arthur to lean in. Arthur half listened to her, answered her questions, politely asked some in return. She was pretty, and judging by the way she shifted her weight to lean into him, the way she tilted her head to look up through thick lashes, she knew it.

“Am I making you uncomfortable, Arthur?” she whispered, fingers trailing a path up and down his thigh.

Arthur had been attracted to many women, the occasional man, but he’s very rarely acted on it. Whether it was due to the heat, the misery of the last couple of months, or the mere fact that he was trying to prove to himself that he wasn’t in love with Merlin, Arthur answered slowly, his voice thick, “Not at all.”

Joanna’s smile widened. Her eyes flicked towards lips, giving Arthur warning for what was to come. She leaned forward, her hands resting on either side of his hips and kissed him.

She tasted of cabbage and honey. She was soft, her tongue hot. Arthur cupped her head in his hand, and pulled her into him. He let his thumb slide along her jaw, and his mind immediately noted the absence of an emerging beard, her skin smooth and scruff free.

She leaned back enough to take a deep breath, her chest swelling, pressing her breast against his chest before she resumed the kiss.

Arthur tried to focus on her and just her, his hands moving to her arms, feeling soft flesh and narrow shoulders, not a thin frame with wiry muscles.

Despite years of caution, the feeling of a woman in his arms was familiar. The feel of her small frame, soft skin, and thin fingers stirred memories of other women, love potions, and lost time. The word enchantment popped into his head, and with it, the need for Merlin to be there by his side, watching his back like he always had.

Joanna shifted and Arthur could tell she was preparing to straddle his lap. He didn’t want this. He wasn’t completely certain what he wanted, though he did have a pretty good idea, and it wasn’t Joanna.

He gently grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back, tucked his lips together and gave her a look of apology. “I should get back to my men.” _To Merlin_.

She sat back on her heels, her eyes wide as she stared at him in confusion. As he began to stand, she looked away and began to straighten her skirt.

“I’m sorry,” he told her, but she just shook her head, dismissing him as she ran her fingers through her hair. Worried for how things might look, Arthur slipped into the forest and walked the perimeter of the camp, emerging on the other side, far from the wagon and Joanna.

Lancelot was gratefully accepting a plate of food from an old man who seemed almost too old to be standing. Leon was sitting not too far away, still looking uncomfortable, but hungrily eating the offered food. Gwaine was still playing with the kids, valiantly pretending to die as two young boys pelted his knees and hips with wooden swords.

Merlin was sitting on the ground in the shadows, the smile from earlier completely gone. He had a plate in his lap, both hands holding firmly to the edge, but he wasn’t eating. He was staring absently towards the fire pit, lost in his thoughts.

Purposefully not looking towards the wagon, Arthur straightened his shoulders and strode forward, forcing a happy smile. “Are you going to eat that?” he asked, kicking Merlin’s knee and pulling him out of his stupor.

Merlin looked up at him, blinked and then looked down at the food. “No…” he said slowly, “It’s, er…I already ate. This one’s for you.”

“Great,” Arthur said with false cheer. He plopped down beside Merlin, sitting perhaps a tad too close and reached for the plate. There was a small pile of the meat William had cooked, but the majority of the plate consisted of a thick gruel similar to that which Merlin’s mother had made during Arthur’s first visit to Ealdor.

Something dried and green lay next to it, looking like something more akin to a brittle potion ingredient rather than a vegetable.

Arthur shook the plate slightly, causing the gruel to jiggle. He forced himself not to grimace and looked to Merlin for sympathy, but Merlin wasn’t paying attention. He had focused his attention on the ground, absently drawing in the dirt with a large twig.

Arthur was familiar with an unhappy Merlin. Once upon a time, Arthur would have dismissed it as something inconsequential and wheedled at Merlin until he earned a smile.

But that was before Arthur knew of Merlin’s magic and the absurd amount of danger and responsibility his manservant took upon him.

“Merlin?” Arthur had to say his name once more, bumping his shoulder against Merlin’s before Merlin turned to look at him. “What’s wrong?”

Merlin turned down the corners of his mouth and shook head, “Nothing,” he said, “I’m fine,” and Arthur knew it was a lie. He frowned, opened his mouth to tell Merlin he was a terrible liar, and shut it again as he spotted Joanna making her way to a small group of women, her smile just as light as it had been the first time he saw it.

Merlin followed Arthur’s stare and watched as Joanna carefully took a seat between two women, accepting a bowl of food, and easily joining in on the conversation. Merlin sighed and looked back to the ground and the lines he had been drawing.

Were Arthur not so aware of Merlin’s habits, quirks, and body language, he might have missed the tense line to his shoulders or the way he chewed on the inside of his cheek.

“Merlin…”

“It’s fine, Arthur,” Merlin insisted, dropping the stick and rubbing both hands over his face. “I’m fine,” he repeated, and it sounded as though he was saying it more for his benefit than Arthur’s.

Arthur wasn’t convinced, but now, surrounded by strangers wasn’t the best time to have a personal conversation. Arthur wasn’t sure what was bothering Merlin, but he’d be damned if he was going to let it go. He’d learned too much in the last few months to let Merlin brood in silence.

Merlin dropped his hands and let out a tired sigh as he glanced to Arthur. He gestured to the plate of food in Arthur’s hands and gave a crooked, dimpled smile. “You should eat that now. I doubt it’ll taste any better cold.”

Arthur looked back down at the plate. The gruel had slumped to the edge, coating the pieces of squirrel in its grainy bits. “Yugh…” he whined, picking up the green stuff to try and wipe away the gruel.

Merlin snorted a held back laugh. Arthur looked up, relieved to see a sincere smile on his friend’s face. But it didn’t last long. As soon as Arthur met Merlin’s eye, Merlin’s smile softened, all but disappearing as he stood and casually walked away, leaving Arthur holding a dead vegetable and a plate of slop.

Arthur felt like he had been punched in the gut. He dropped the food back on the plate and sat the whole thing on the ground.

He could have died happy just being friends with Merlin. Merlin was a true friend, one who couldn’t care less about titles and propriety. He thought he’d be able to handle it better if it were simply a physical attraction. Arthur was surrounded by a number of good looking people, all who looked as though they could offer a fun time.

But the more he thought on it, the more he actually examined his feelings rather than ignore them, the more he realized that he actually had feelings for Merlin.

Arthur tapped the plate of food with his boot, causing the gruel to jiggle a little closer to the meat. The question on his mind now was when the hell did he fall in love with his manservant.

***

Gwaine was a child. A fully grown, bearded, foolish child.

Merlin couldn’t help laughing as a small boy bounded forward from the crowd of campers, a miniature wooden sword displayed proudly as he charged towards an amused Gwaine.

“What do we have here?” Gwaine exclaimed, jumping to his feet, hands raised in surrender. The boy just grinned and brandished the sword again, clumsily slapping the carved wood against Gwaine’s hip.

“Oy! Do you not know what this means?” Gwaine waved his hands up above his head, skipping away from the boy’s sword. “It means Don’t Stab Me.”

Either the boy didn’t know or he didn’t care because he simply laughed at Gwaine’s outcry and continued his assault. It wasn’t long before another boy, smaller than the first joined in, his aim reaching closer to Gwaine’s knees.

“You should eat,” someone said before sticking a plate of food into Merlin’s hands. Merlin stuttered a surprised ‘thank you’ which went unheard as the woman moved on, passing out more food to waiting hands.

A lifetime of Hunith and Gaius’ cooking had taught Merlin not to be picky. Without much thought as to what was on his plate, he grabbed a chunk of meat, scooped up a bit of the greying goop, and stuffed it in his mouth.

It was bland, the fat from the meat being the only flavor, but it was edible, if he ignored the texture. Merlin licked the grease from his thumb before reaching in for another piece and repeating the pattern from before.

Second mouthful halfway gone, Merlin looked up to find Leon watching him, eyebrow rising in question as he looked to his newly acquired plate. Merlin shrugged and gave a small, encouraging nod before taking a third bite.

Leon gave the food one last judging glance before imitating Merlin and using the meat as a spoon. Merlin watched as Leon leaned over his plate and popped an entire piece of gruel covered meat into his mouth.

Merlin knew the exact moment Leon registered the taste and snotty texture, because the Knight’s jaw immediately stopped working. His shoulders stiffened, his nostrils flared, and his eyes found Merlin.

Leon looked betrayed. Merlin just grinned.

Ever the grateful gentleman, Leon quickly schooled his expression and continued to eat, although with smaller bites.

Merlin finished off the meat and took a single bite of the dehydrated vegetable, regretting it as the sour aftertaste settled. He glanced around the small camp, watching as many of the campers ate with gusto, clearly untroubled by the unusual texture.

It wasn’t until he spotted the man who was tending the fire standing alone that Merlin noticed Arthur’s absence.

“Excuse me,” Merlin called as he approached the fire pit and its dying embers. The man looked up from where he was dismantling the roasting spit, his face drenched in sweat.

“If you’re looking for something else, I’m afraid that’s all we’ve got,” he said, pointing to Merlin’s nearly empty plate.

“Oh, no,” Merlin quickly countered, looking down at the remains of his meal. “No, I’m not looking for more food. This was…”

“Disgusting,” the man declared, eyeing the small patch of gruel still on the plate. “Won’t hurt my feelings, boy. None of us like it, but it’ll keep you going, take away your hunger.”

“I can definitely say I’m no longer hungry,” Merlin muttered, tilting his plate so that the grease and the gruel blended. “But I’m actually looking for my friend. Blonde, pompous, about this tall?” He held his hand out to the side.

The man laughed, and nodded. “He got sick sitting near the fire. Took off that way a while back.” He gestured towards the wagon near the trail with a burnt stick.

Merlin looked to the trail and the darkened trees beyond, hoping to see Arthur, but no such luck.

“Here,” the man said, and as Merlin turned back around, another ladleful of gruel was slopped onto the plate. “He’ll need to eat, too.”

Merlin smiled gratefully as the man added a few more pieces of meat and another serving of the sour vegetable. Knowing Arthur, he probably ran off to avoid having to force down the camper’s version of dinner.

With the fire nearly out and the moon barely a sliver, visibility was low as Merlin left the crowded circle of campers. No one seemed concerned about where he was going, each too preoccupied with their own conversations to worry about the skinny man sneaking off into the trees with a plate of food.

Merlin squinted his eyes, trying to see a sign of Arthur in the darkness beyond. He wouldn’t have gone far, would he? Not in the dark, not alone. Merlin was about to call out Arthur’s name, but as he neared the front wheel of the wagon, he heard a sound that made him pause.

It was the familiar rustle of clothes, the distinct sound of panted breaths, and wet lips. Merlin forced himself to breathe. He could feel his heart beginning to pound, the hairs on his arm rising despite the heat. Careful not to make a sound, Merlin edged his way around the wagon, stopping to peek around the side.

Arthur was there, kissing a woman that Merlin vaguely remembered seeing when they first arrived. She was almost in his lap, Arthur’s hands trailing from her neck down towards the bend of her arms.

Slowly, Merlin turned around and began to make his way back to the camp. He gripped the plate of food tightly, the pads of his thumbs turning white as he carefully stepped over raised roots and fallen branches.

 _Just breathe._ He said to himself. _Just breathe. Ignore it._ There was a physical pain in his chest, a tightness that overlapped the rhythm of his heart. _Ignore it, just breathe._

He found his way to a fallen log, well away from the others, and sat down, the plate resting on his knees.

This changed nothing. The status quo remained the same. He was still Arthur’s manservant, still his friend.

The pain in his chest was dull as he thought over the last couple of days, the way hope had flared with each casual glance, every seemingly natural touch.

Merlin had been in denial at first, refuting all of Lancelot’s suggestions that Arthur could possibly feel something remotely romantic. But the more he had thought back to the last few months, tallying all the ways their relationship had shifted, he had developed a sense of optimistic anticipation.

But that feeling had diminished, leaving behind a nearly tangible void in Merlin’s chest.

He sat there, eyes locked on the bright orange embers glowing in the center of the fire pit as he tried to sort out the mess in his head. There as a hint of anger seeping in as he thought over Gaius and Lancelot telling him about Arthur’s feelings, messing with Merlin’s emotions. There was confusion as he tried to justify everyone’s seemingly sincere belief that he and Arthur had something special.

There was strong sense of sadness.

“Are you going to eat that?”

For the second time in just a few hours, Merlin found himself being roused from his thoughts by Arthur. Arthur was smiling, his lips dark pink and slightly swollen.

Merlin looked away. ““No…It’s, er…I already ate. This one’s for you.”

“Great,” Arthur said as he reached for the food, his enthusiasm sounding just a tad too forced.  Without the plate, Merlin suddenly felt unsure of what to do with his hands.

He grabbed a stick and started drawing lines in the sand, mapping out the trails surrounding Ealdor from memory. He thought of Will and his mother, of spell books and leech tanks, anything to keep his mind from focusing on the man sitting next to him.

“Melrin?” Arthur wasn’t making it easy. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Merlin lied.  “I’m fine.”

Arthur’s eyebrows came together and Merlin prepared himself for the rebuttal, but it never came. Merlin frowned as he looked to see what had caught Arthur’s attention. It was a woman, casually walking through the small crowd, the same woman who had minutes before been snogging Arthur behind an empty wagon.

“Merlin…” Arthur’s voice sounded worried.

“It’s fine, Arthur,” Merlin told him, determined for it to be true. “I’m fine.” 

Arthur didn’t speak, and Merlin knew Arthur was just going to question him some more. Heaving a tired sigh, Merlin looked to Arthur and pointed at the plate of food. “You should eat that now,” he suggested. “I doubt it’ll taste any better cold.”

Merlin watched as Arthur studied the food, his face morphing into a familiar expression of disgust. “Yugh…” he said, and Merlin had to stop himself from laughing.

But as Arthur looked up, expression suddenly light, Merlin felt that dull pain return.

The problem wasn’t Arthur’s feelings. It was Merlin’s, because while Arthur’s feelings towards Merlin were apparently unchanged, the same couldn’t be said for Merlin’s feelings towards Arthur.

He stood up and walked away.

***

Leon first met Arthur when the Prince was a young boy. He had watched Arthur grow and learn over time, rising to the demands and expectations of both his title and his father.  There had been trials and hardships that resulted in character building lessons throughout the years, shaping Arthur from an innocent, carefree little boy to a somewhat cocky and headstrong teen.

But despite everything, all the tournaments and quests, the constant training and lectures and battles, nothing had worked to change the Prince’s demeanor more than the arrival of the insubordinate, reckless manservant.

It had taken some time for Leon to get used to the complete disregard Merlin showed for Arthur’s title. The Knights had placed bets on how long Merlin would last, whether or not he’d up and quit the next time he was thrown in the stocks.

But Merlin endured, much to the surprise of the entire castle.

Leon honestly thought it was over when Merlin’s magic was revealed. The look on Arthur’s face at the time, the complete devastation and betrayal had been obvious.

But they moved passed it. It was touch and go for a while. Leon woke each day thinking the King would order a pyre, but nothing ever happened. If anything, Merlin and Arthur had grown closer, and Leon had firmly been convinced that the two of them could withstand anything.

But looking at the way Arthur wilted as Merlin walked away, Leon was no longer so certain.

He glanced to Lancelot, finding the other Knight’s eyes watching Merlin’s retreating back. Gwaine had managed to break loose from the children. He had one hand resting habitually on the hilt of his sword, his eyes hard as he looked back and forth between Merlin and Arthur.

Leon stood up, politely handed his plate to someone else, and made the spur of the moment decision to try and talk to Merlin. He had already spoken to Arthur once, and judging by the brooding glare Arthur was giving the ground, Merlin was looking to be the better option.

Merlin had wandered over to the edge of the fire pit, watching as two men carried a heavy bag of sand towards the still smoking embers.

“Do you want to tell me what’s got you and Arthur looking like the world is about to end?” Leon asked, crossing his arms and staring at the men cutting the lip of the sand bag.

Merlin kept his eyes forward, his shoulders relaxed. “Not particularly.”

Leon grabbed Merlin’s shoulder and forced the man to face him. Merlin looked tired, his usually pale skin pink and peeling from too much exposure to the sun, his lips chapped. Mostly, he looked like someone who was trying to pretend everything was alright. “Did something happen?”

When Merlin clenched his jaw, it made his ears move. Leon watched as the sunburned ears bounced twice in a mess of dirty curls before Merlin asked, “What did you say to him? Back in the gorge, why did he send me away?”

“It was…Merlin, we didn’t mean anything by it,” Leon assured him. “We’re trying to help.”

Merlin’s ears bounced again. “Did any of you ever stop to think that we didn’t _need_ your help? That we might not want it?”

“Merl—” There was a startled gasp followed by a stressed, whispered warning. “Nobody move!”

Leon looked around slowly, confused by the sudden hush that had fallen over the camp.  One of the older men was standing near the trail facing the trees as his hand inched towards the knife in his belt. Leon heard it before he saw it. There was a deep, guttural growl, a snap of a fallen twig and then the little moonlight hit the animal’s eyes just right.

“It’s a wolf,” someone whispered. Some of the women were calmly reaching for the children, others were standing with the men, knives and swords within reach.

The wolf stepped forward with another growl. It was hard to see in the low light, but Leon could tell the wolf was ill. It had a large frame, well over a meter in height, its muzzle snarled. The skin seemed to sag against its skeleton, hanging along the ribcage, evidence that it had lost a great deal of weight in a short amount of time.

It was stalking forward, seemingly unconcerned with the men and their knives.

“It’s hungry,” someone said, looking at the pot of gruel and the small pile of bones from their dinner.

“And desperate,” Merlin muttered under his breath. Leon saw him clench his fists, his eyes trained on the wolf.

“There’s two of them,” a woman gasped pointing to the other side of the camp.

“Three,” Gwaine corrected, sword drawn as he faced a smaller wolf. “They’ve trapped us in.”

“Can you stop them?” Leon whispered. He slowly drew his sword. The largest wolf took another step forward.

“Without anyone seeing?” Merlin scoffed. “What do you think the odds are that these nice people won’t just turn their knives on me?”

“Where’s your sword?”

“With the saddles.”

Leon clenched his jaw in frustration, wondered whether or not his ears moved like Merlin’s, then said with a forced calm, “Then you best stay out of the way.”

Merlin bristled beside him. “I can be discrete.”

“Then discretely stay out of the way. The last thing we need is to have an angry, magic hating mob chasing us through the dark.”

“What’s the plan?” Gwaine called as he placed himself between one of the wolves and the children.

“Don’t let it bite you,” Arthur said cheekily. “There are three of them, more of us. Make each strike count.”

One of the men that had been carrying the sand bag cleared his throat and pointed towards the trees. “There might be a minor flaw in that plan.”

There were a few more gasps as everyone looked towards the trees. Dozens of eyes were looking back.

“It’s a full bloody pack.”

Leon’s grandmother used to be able to sense trouble. She wasn’t a seer, not in the way Merlin had said Morgana was, but she always had a knack for knowing when something bad would happen.

It was as the bag of sand tipped on its side, the fine grains trickling out like an hourglass that Leon knew this wasn’t going to go their way.

A child started to cry, a wolf growled, and one of the men took a step back and tripped over one of the bedrolls.

It was chaos from there. The wolves charged the clearing as one, snarling and growling in unison. Several people screamed, and all began to move.

Leon could hear the old woman who had greeted them calling out orders. “Get the children to the wagon! Stay in the clearing!”

No one listened. People began to run in every direction, crossing the clearing and disappearing into the tree line, the wolves chasing after.

Leon grabbed Merlin by his shirt and pushed him back. “Stay with Arthur! Keep him safe!” Leon expected to be obeyed. But instead of leaving to find their Prince, Merlin reached forward and placed his hands on Leon’s shoulders, his eyes focused on Leon’s.

“What are…” Leon trailed off as Merlin began to speak, the words unfamiliar, his voice deeper than Leon was used to. There was a quick flash of gold in Merlin’s eyes and then Leon felt the uncomfortable sensation of insects crawling over his skin.

“What did you do?” he called out, looking down at his bug free arms, but Merlin had already gone. Leon heard a growl and turned around only to watch as a wolf darted right past him. It wasn’t until he was able to walk right up to the wolf, his sword held high, the wolf completely oblivious to his presence that Leon began to understand what the spell might have been.

It was when Gwaine ran right past him without even looking in his direction that Leon knew for sure what Merlin had done.

That big eared bastard had turned him invisible.

Leon didn’t know whether he should laugh or pee his pants. He charged forward, stabbing at anything with fur. They were surrounded by screams, people calling out warnings, asking for help, others begging for mercy.

It was darker in the forest. Even without the leaves, the branches cast shadows on the forest floor, hiding raised roots and fallen limbs. The screams and growls were still intermingling. Leon could smell blood, could hear men barking orders, the occasional yelp of a wounded wolf. It was chaos in its purest form, the fear and panic from the campers palpable.

It was quickly becoming a massacre.

He hurried and dispatched a rushing wolf, stabbing it through the ribs as it lunged for an unarmed man. Too focused on finding the others, Leon didn’t have time to appreciate the completely dumbfounded look of terror on the man’s face at seeing a charging wolf suddenly stop dead for apparently no reason.

Everyone looked the same in the darkness, and he couldn’t tell if the men running past him were the ones he was looking for or not. He moved from tree to tree, helping where he could.

Leon was used to order, to carefully executed plans and maneuvers. He was used to fighting men, not wolves. And even with Merlin’s little trick, Leon found himself facing the largest of the wolves. Despite the darkness, Leon could see the slick of blood on its muzzle.

The wolf wasn’t staring right at him, its eyes drifting more to the left, but as Leon slowly stepped forward, his sword raised, the wolf’s nostrils flared and it lunged.

Leon felt the wolf’s breath before he felt the teeth. It was a sharp pain, but he barely registered it through the adrenaline as the wolf knocked him to the ground, stones and tree roots pressing painfully into his back.

Leon dropped his sword in favor of grabbing the wolf’s head, trying hard to push the snapping muzzle away. All training was forgotten as fear took over. The smell was rancid, and despite the fact that the wolf was obviously starving, it was still strong.

There was a moment of confusion where Leon wasn’t sure what was happening. The wolf’s snarl was cut off, ending in a breathy yelp, before the wolf’s muscles relaxed and the body sagged heavily against Leon’s chest, its neck resting limply on Leon’s face.

“Leon?” Lancelot called from somewhere above the wolf. “You alright?” Leon managed to push the wolf’s head to the side enough to see a sweat soaked Lancelot standing above him, the hilt of his sword sticking out of the wolf’s side.

“You can see me?” Leon panted as he tried to climb out from under the wolf. Lancelot, who had been trying to pull his sword free, stopped and cast Leon a worried glance. “…why wouldn’t I be able to see you?”

“Never mind,” Leon grunted, “Just get this thing off me.”

Lancelot placed his foot on the wolf’s shoulder, grabbed his sword, and pulled, pushing the wolf off in the process.

Leon crawled backward, cringing at the feel of the wolf’s blood seeping into his clothes. He found his sword, accepted Lancelot’s offered hand up, and tried to catch his breath.

“How many are left?” he asked. He flexed his arm and winced at the pain.

“Not many, but I don’t think the wolves are our biggest problem anymore.” Lancelot pointed his blood stained sword towards the remains of the camp.

Leon turned, the glow looking unnatural and out of place in the surrounding darkness.

The trees surrounding the clearing were on fire, the smoke thick from the dried and dying wood.

“Damn it,” Leon cursed. They couldn’t get back to the campsite the way they had come, the fire had grown too large.

Careful to keep an eye out for any more wolves, they edged around the clearing, coughing as they got closer to the smoke.

“Something scattered the embers,” Lancelot pointed out as they entered the destroyed campsite. People were quickly returning from the trees, trying to salvage whatever belongings they could before the fire took it all.

Leon looked to the last place he remembered seeing their horses. Most of them were gone. One lay dead on the edge of the fire, its body torn by the wolves.

Leon looked away.

Those that weren’t trying to flee or fight the fire were mourning. A woman was kneeling next to the body of a man, her face deformed by grief. She seemed unconcerned with the blaze just meters away.

“How do we stop this?” Leon wondered aloud, a foreboding sense of helplessness sinking in. Lancelot looked just as lost.

The smoke was thick, and Leon had to press his face into the bend of his arm just to try and get a full breath. “Do you see any of the others?”

Lancelot began to shake his head, but stopped as a figure emerged from the trees. “Gwaine!”

Gwaine was pulling the lead lines of two horses. One, which Leon recognized as Lancelot’s gelding, was pulling back on its lead. The horse’s eyes were wide, its nostrils flared, its panicked cries were heard over the screams of the crowd.

The other horse was eerily calm in comparison, limping slightly as Gwaine urged them forward.

“Arthur? Merlin?” Gwaine asked handing the tame mare’s lead to Leon as he focused on calming the scared horse.

Leon shook his head and looked at the horse before him. There was a burn on its back, just above the rump. Leon placed his hand on the side of the horse’s neck, the beating pulse hinting that the horse might not be as calm as it first appeared.

“That one can defend herself,” Gwaine said with a tired smile, “Saw her stomp a wolf’s head in, she did.”

Leon glanced down and saw leaves and grass sticking to the blood coating the front hoof and leg. he gave the horse a proud, reassuring pat on the neck. He didn’t think anything strange in the way the horse’s mane began to stir with the slight wind, at least, not until the leaves at his feet began to move.

Slowly, the wind began to pick up, gathering strength. And just as he had known when the sand began to fall that things were about to go bad, Leon knew that this wind that was slowly emerging warranted their attention. “This wind isn’t natural…”

He looked to Lancelot and Gwaine, their eyes squinted against the smoke and bits of dust suddenly blowing through the air.

“Take this,” Gwaine ordered, shoving the second horse’s lead into Leon’s hands. Leon stood holding the rope as Gwaine took off across the debris strewn clearing.

“MERLIN!” Gwaine called as he jumped over the remains of an emaciated wolf. Leon looked towards where Gwaine was running and saw Merlin emerge from the smoke laden tree line.  
  
Merlin didn’t seem to notice Gwaine, he was too busy looking around. There was a knife in his right hand, the left kept running dirt covered fingers through his hair.

“It’s his magic,” Lancelot whispered before following Gwaine. The wind was beginning to build, sending the smoke in multiple directions.

As Merlin turned, there was a flash of gold. It could have been a reflection from the fire light, but as Merlin gestured to the burning trees, the wind began to howl.

Strong gusts were whipping through the leafless treetops, fueling the fire. Leon left the horses where they were and started running. Just as he reached the three men, a sharp crack echoed through the clearing. They all turned just in time to see a tree fall to the ground.

Leon grabbed Merlin’s shoulder, stopping him from running back into the forest. “Where’s Arthur?”

Merlin kept gesturing towards the burning trees, his expression devastated. Leon felt a surge of fear settle in his stomach. He shook Merlin, trying to get his attention. “Merlin, where is Arthur?”

Gold ringed eyes turned to look at him. “He’s in there,” Merlin pointed the knife towards the forest. “I lost him.”

Leon looked back to the fire. It had spread to the other side of the trail, threatening to encircle the entire clearing. They had no way to fight it, no means to stop it from spreading further.

The wind switched directions, blowing Leon’s hair into his face.

There was one way, and Arthur probably wasn’t going to like it.

Turning to Gwaine and Lancelot, Leon ordered “Find Arthur,” uncaring which one of them did it. He placed himself right in front of Merlin, giving the man no choice but to acknowledge him.

“Merlin,” Leon began, his voice loud in order to be heard over the commotion happening around them. “I need you to listen to me. You need to calm down.”

Merlin looked at him like he was insane. “Calm down? Leon, Arthur is in there!” he gestured towards the fire again, this time with both hands, passing the knife just under Leon’s chin.

“I know!” Leon assured him. He reached forward and grabbed Merlin’s wrist, squeezing the bones together until he dropped the knife. “I know, and Lancelot’s gone to find him, but I need you to focus on me. Right now!”

Merlin was crying. Tears were leaving tracks through the soot and grime that had coated Merlin’s face. The gold in his eyes kept shifting. Leon wasn’t entirely certain Merlin was even aware of it.

“Merlin, your magic’s out of control.”

Merlin shook his head as he pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes. “This isn’t me. I’m not doing this.”

The wind picked up speed, the fire grew, and another tree could be heard falling. Leon stepped into Merlin’s personal space and reached forward. He placed his hands on either side of Merlin’s face, earning a very confused look from Merlin.

The tear tracks were cold, and Leon could feel the coarse scruff of an emerging beard under his palm. “Merlin, this wind is you,” Leon said calmly. Merlin continued to look confused as to why Leon was touching him, but he still shook his head. “It is, Merlin.”

“Leon, I’m not doing magic. This isn’t me.”

“Your eyes are gold,” Leon stated simply. He felt Merlin stiffen, watched as Merlin’s fear for Arthur morphed into a fear for something else.

Merlin stepped back, putting distance between himself and Leon. “How do I…?”

“You’ve got to calm down, mate,” Gwaine urged from behind Leon. “Get your emotions under control.”

Merlin cast another helpless glance towards the fire, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he fought back a sob. Leon was scared they were going to have to start all over again, but Merlin turned away from the fire, wiped dirty fingers over his eyes, clearing the tears and smearing dirt in the process.

He steadied his stance, closed his eyes and took calming breaths. They were somewhat shuttered at first, his shoulders shaking, but as Leon and Gwaine stood watch, the wind began to lessen in intensity before dying out altogether.

Now the only sounds were those of panicked people and the crackling, thunderous roar of the fire.

Merlin sniffed loudly and turned back around. He looked a mess. His hair was a tangled nest, his face was tear stained and covered in dirt, sweat, and soot. His shirt was soaked through with sweat, sticking to his thin frame.

“Better?” Gwaine asked.

Merlin ran his hand through his hair, making it worse. “Arthur’s still missing.” 

“We need to stop this fire,” Leon pointed out, not wanting the wind to pick up again. “Can you do that? With magic, can you stop this from spreading?”

Merlin looked at the fire, face stern. Leon could see Merlin’s fingers wiggle at his side, itching to try. “Not without being seen.”

“That doesn’t matter now,” Leon told him.

“They will not harm you,” Gwaine promised. He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword and stepped out of the way, giving Merlin a clear view of the fire. Leon wasn’t exactly sure how magic worked, but he wanted to make sure Merlin had all the space he needed.

He drew his sword, and stood at Merlin’s back, watching to insure that no one disrupted them. Gwaine did the same.

It started as a whisper. Merlin’s voice was deep and smooth, speaking words Leon had never heard. As Merlin’s voice began to grow in volume, Leon realized Merlin was repeating the same thing over and over.

He glanced towards the fire, hoping to see some sign that Merlin’s magic was working, that they weren’t about to watch the entirety of Camelot burn to the ground. Leon couldn’t tell a difference, the flames were still high.

He turned to Merlin, but Merlin wasn’t paying him any attention. His eyes were focused on the fire and they were white gold, bright and unmistakably powerful.

The words of the spell quickly became a cadence, steady and rhythmic as Merlin picked up volume. His feet were planted shoulder width apart, his arms outstretched, palms forward. He was breathing heavily.

Leon saw the ends of Merlin’s fringe blow across his forehead, but unlike the emotional winds from earlier, the stir in the air now felt oppressing, ominous.

The air around them was heavy and suffocating, as though it were pressing down on them. Leon saw Merlin stagger, but the cadence of the spell didn’t break. Instead, it became sharper, Merlin’s voice getting somehow both deeper and louder at the same time. Angry.

It wasn’t like he was trying to stop the fire from burning, it was as though he were _ordering_ it to stop.  And the fire was listening.

It was getting harder to breathe. Unlike the choking burn of the smoke, the air wasn’t contaminated. It wasn’t there at all. Leon felt as though he was suffocating.

Merlin’s eyes were bright.

Leon could hear his heart pounding in his ears as he watched Merlin strain against the spell.  There was a sudden, cacophonous echo of silence and then Merlin staggered again, his knees buckling beneath him.

He would have fallen had Leon not reached out and caught him. One arm was wrapped around Merlin’s heaving chest, supporting his suddenly heavy weight, the other had a death grip on his sword.

The fire was gone.

Smoke was rising from the blackened forest floor. Almost every tree west of the clearing was charred black, some had fallen, and the smell of burnt meat intermingled with the smoke. The entire scene reminded Leon of the aftermath of a battle.

“MERLIN!”

Arthur was running towards them. He was filthy, covered in blood and grime, but very much alive, much to Leon’s relief.

“Merlin?” Arthur grabbed Merlin, pulling him into a fierce hug. Leon was more than happy to let Arthur take control of Merlin. He relinquished his hold on the worn sorcerer and stepped back, giving the two men room.

Arthur sank to his knees beneath Merlin’s weight. “Look at me, Merlin. Look at me.” Arthur was holding Merlin’s head, much like Leon had done minutes before, although the act seemed much more intimate as Leon and the others looked on. “Are you okay? Why are you…what happened?”

Merlin stared at Arthur, looking very surprised to see him there. “You’re alive?”

“It would seem,” Arthur tried to laugh. Merlin reached up and patted the side of Arthur’s arm clumsily. “Tha’s good,” he slurred before leaning into Arthur, his forehead resting on Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur laid his hand on the back of Merlin’s head and looked up to Leon.

“What happened?”

Leon looked at the still smoking forest before looking back at Arthur. “He stopped the fire, My Lord.”

“Arthur…” Gwaine’s tone was warning. Leon turned and found themselves surrounded by a group of suddenly threatening looking campers.

An older man brandishing a sword stepped forward. “You have magic?”

No one answered.

The man was staring at Merlin and Arthur, his grip flexing against the hilt, twisting the sword in his hand like he wasn’t used to holding one. “You know sorcery is forbidden in this kingdom?”

“We don’t want any trouble.” Arthur’s voice was calm and commanding. He was still holding Merlin who, from the looks of it, was on the verge of passing out.

The only sound was Merlin’s panted breaths and the agitated brays from one of the horses. “I think it’d be a good idea if you and your men left,” the old man declared.

Arthur nodded and tightened his grip on Merlin. He looked to Leon and the others. “See if we have any supplies left. Grab the horses, and let’s get out of here.”

There was an uncomfortable shift in the crowd as Gwaine and Lancelot made to follow Arthur’s orders. Gwaine slowly put his hands up, trying to pacify the uneasy crowd. “We’re just getting our belongings, and we’ll be on our way. That’s all.”

Lancelot was moving slowly as well, his hands purposefully within clear view of the armed men and women.

“I’ve got you, it’s alright. I’ve got you,” Arthur whispered as he pulled a dazed and unsteady Merlin to his feet. In one swift movement, Arthur lifted Merlin over his shoulders and turned to Leon. “Keep your sword out, and stay behind us.”

It didn’t take long for Gwaine to return with their supplies, or at least, what was left of them. He was carrying what was left of their bags, Merlin’s abandoned sword, and what looked to be a blackened medicine kit.

Without word, they turned to Lancelot and the horses and left as quickly as they could. They didn’t look back as they reached the trail, and the once friendly campers did not follow.

***

They had walked at a steady pace for twenty minutes before stopping to make sure Merlin was still breathing.

He was.

He was also very unhappy with being treated like an invalid. However, the moment he tried to walk on his own, it was quickly apparent that whatever had happened with his magic back in the clearing was still affecting him, and he was quickly bolstered onto one of the horses to ride bareback until they put more distance between themselves and the potentially murderous crowd of magic fearing travelers.

The next few hours were spent in relative silence as they marched at a steady pace. Arthur kept looking behind them, half expecting to see someone following.

The sun was well into the sky by the time they found a secluded cave a short distance off the trail.

“So,” Gwaine began as he checked the bandage wrapped around Leon’s bitten arm, “Does that happen often?”

Merlin blinked slowly, and accepted a water skin from Lancelot. “Does what happen often?”

“You getting all weak like that? Dizzy?” Gwaine clarified. “D’you always pass out when you use that much magic?”

“No, that’s never happened before,” Merlin said. He tilted his head back, lifted the water skin and poured it over his face, washing away most of the dirt. He wiped away the excess water and licked his lips as he stared at the ground like he was trying to remember something. “Well, not _quite_ like that, anyhow.”

Arthur frowned. “What do you mean not _quite_ like that? This has happened before?”

Merlin glanced up at Arthur and quickly looked away. He began fiddling with the stitching on the water skin, his eyes anywhere but Arthur. He looked uncomfortable, hesitant. But after a few awkward moments, Merlin finally said, “Nimueh.”

Arthur froze. He saw Leon cast a wary glance in his direction. Gwaine and Lancelot were both looking at one another in confusion.

Gwaine looked back and forth between Arthur and Merlin and asked, “Who’s Nimueh?”

“A powerful sorceress,” Leon clarified in a slow, cautious tone. He was watching Merlin, a questioning look on his face. “She once practiced in Camelot, long ago. But what Merlin would know of her, I do not know…”

“Merlin?” Arthur asked, trying to keep the anger and judgment out of his voice. After Merlin’s magic was revealed, Arthur had ordered Merlin to tell him everything. And Merlin had, or so Arthur thought. He had been shown spell books, told of gryphons, goblins, and dragons. Arthur had even learned about Balinor. But not once did Merlin mention Nimueh.

“It was on the Isle of the Blessed,” Merlin explained. He still wasn’t looking at Arthur. “It was after the Questing Beast.”

Arthur felt a phantom twinge of pain in his shoulder at the memory. “Gaius found a cure.”

Merlin shook his head slowly, his face still turned towards the floor. Arthur saw a tear fall. “If Gaius found no cure, then how am I still alive?” Arthur asked, and Merlin told him.

He explained how he asked the dragon for help, how he left Camelot in search of the Isle and the power to save Arthur’s life.

He told them of bargaining his life for Arthur’s, of finding his mother dying at Gaius’ door.

Arthur sat quietly, hands clenched into tight, white knuckled fists as Merlin described Nimueh’s deception and Gaius’ efforts to save them all.

When Merlin finished telling them about calling forth the lightening, of bringing rain and death upon the Isle and the way he had collapsed next to a fallen Gaius, they all sat in dumbfounded silence. It was several minutes before everyone processed the story, and soon, they all had questions.

Leon was focused on the fact that Merlin had supposedly made it rain. Lancelot was awed at the apparent power Merlin possessed and the fact that he had managed to defeat a High Priestess of the Old Religion.

Gwaine couldn’t seem to get past the fact that Merlin had sought advice from Kilgharrah. “You’re telling me dragons can talk?”

There were at least a dozen questions running through Arthur’s head, but there was one point in Merlin’s story that Arthur couldn’t seem to move past.

“You were willing to trade your life for mine?” Arthur asked. The others quickly quieted, sensing Arthur’s held back anger. “Why would you do that?”

Merlin finally met Arthur’s eyes. “I told you why.”

“Because of some prophecy?” Arthur scoffed. He remembered being told about the great dragon’s so called prophecy. “Two coins or some nonsense?”

“Two sides of the same coin,” Merlin corrected, sounding uncharacteristically timid. “But it’s not just—”

“Merlin, you can’t be doing things like that,” Arthur cut him off. “You can’t just walk around, risking your life, _trading_ your life for mine!”

It was Merlin’s turn to scoff. “Arthur, that’s all I’ve done since I’ve met you.”

The hairs on Arthur’s arms raised at the realization that Merlin very likely had been risking his life for Arthur, all without Arthur ever knowing.

Arthur paced a few steps around the cave’s entrance before turning and pointing an angry finger in Merlin’s direction. “When we get home, you and I are having a very long conversation.”

Merlin chewed on his lip. “Understood.”

Arthur sat down heavily, rubbing tiredly at his forehead. “I thought you told me everything.”

“I did, Arthur. At least, everything important,” Merlin insisted.

Arthur sneered, “You don’t think life sacrifices can be classified as important?”

Merlin didn’t answer.

Leon cleared his throat and asked, “Are we talking about the same dragon that tried to destroy Camelot? The one that you killed?”

“I didn’t kill the dragon,” Arthur snapped, “Merlin lied about that, too.” Merlin closed his eyes.

Arthur could tell Leon was uncomfortable as he asked, “If you didn’t kill it, My Lord, where did it go?”

Arthur looked to Merlin, waiting for him to answer the question. Continuing with the timid demeanour, Merlin shrugged one shoulder and scratched behind his ear. “I, er, I asked him to leave and he…left.”

It sounded just as ridiculous as the first time Arthur heard it.

“You asked it to leave, and it left…” Gwaine’s eyebrows were pushed together in thought, an entire lifetime’s worth of knowledge concerning dragons suddenly shifting.

“Yeah, he sort of…has to…listen to me,” Merlin told them lamely. Lancelot and Gwaine continued to look confused. Leon, however, leaned forward and said in a tone that sounded impressively stunned, “You’re a Dragon Lord.”

Lancelot seemed to catch on. Gwaine did not. He looked at Merlin’s embarrassed, hunched shoulders to Leon and Lancelot’s twin looks of awe to Arthur’s air of simmering concern. “Which means…?”

“He can command dragons,” Arthur told him, watching as Merlin shifted uncomfortably.

Gwaine smiled. “You’re having me on, yeah?”

“No, he’s not,” Merlin assured him. He let out a self-deprecating laugh and looked up to the ceiling of the cave. “I used to ask him for advice. Still do sometimes. Any time something came up that I couldn’t handle, that I…He knows magic, way more than I could ever know. Half the time I would swear he could see the future. The other half, I’m pretty sure he was full of crap and just enjoyed taking the piss out of me.”

Arthur thought back to all the countless books and scrolls he’d read through over the last few weeks, the seemingly endless lectures Gaius had given about magic and its possibilities concerning the weather. “Wait,” Arthur said “If the dragon, if this…this Kilgharrah knows magic and is all-knowing or what have you, why haven’t you asked him for help with this, with the drought? We could ask him if it’s caused by magic.”

Merlin shook his head in apology. “I’ve already tried.”

“When?”

“When you first asked me if this drought could be caused by magic.”

“And?” Arthur felt a hint of annoyance. Why hadn’t Merlin told him he had spoken to the dragon? “What did he say?”

“Nothing. He never showed up. I called for him, I waited, I called again, and…” Merlin gave a half-hearted shrug. “He never came.”

“I thought he had to come when called?” Arthur asked.

“Yeah,” Merlin answered, his tone solemn. He sniffed quietly and began tracing the stitching on the water skin again. “He does. But he didn’t.”

No one mentioned the possible reasons why.

***

“So the outside’s pretty much ruined, but the strap still works,” Merlin flicked the metal clasp holding the medicine kit closed. “Between this and the leech tank, Gaius’ll never let me use his things again.”

“At least the supplies inside are still good,” Lancelot pointed out helpfully. “Bandages are still clean, vials unbroken. All in all, it’s still a functioning med kit.”

“Which is more than I can say for Arthur’s satchel.” Gwaine held up what was left of the leather bag. “Knives are still good, at least the blades are anyhow. Tunics are pretty much destroyed, and the food…” He held up what looked to be a blackened brick. “I’m pretty sure this used to be bread.”

“There’s food in the other bags,” Arthur assured them. “We won’t starve. Now pack it all up, let’s keep moving.” The sun was well into the sky, and they were all feeling the heat, but they had crossed into Essetir and were nearing Russiton, and everyone was looking forward to stopping in an actual town.

“Russiton has a tavern, yeah?” Gwaine asked for the third time. He was leading one of the horses, the remainder of their belongings strapped to its back. Absent any saddles and given the heat, they had decided to alternate between the two horses, letting them go in shifts to carry the few supplies they still had. “With food and ale?”

“If you think there’s any tavern still turning a profit for food, you’ve lost your mind,” Merlin laughed. “The Rising Sun hasn’t offered a meal in months.”

“Nor ale,” Gwaine lamented. “I miss ale.”

Leon laughed as he pulled on the second horse’s lead, urging it forward. “No offense, but the last thing we need at the moment is a drunken Gwaine prancing about, trying to play the hero.”

“I’m not always drunk,” Gwaine claimed, not sounding the least bit offended.

Arthur looked at him sideways. “Gwaine, you were drunk when we first met.”

“And have been in a perpetual state of drunkenness ever since,” Merlin concluded.

Gwaine cast a disbelieving look at his horse. “They do realize I’m not drunk now, don’t they?”

“Aaannd he’s talking to the horse,” Lancelot laughed.

It was easy going for the next hour. They passed no one on the road, and despite the drought ridden land, passage through the forest was unhindered.

The village of Russiton was small, more of a stopping point for tired travelers than an actual village. It was known for raising pigs and was the last mapped town this close to either kingdom’s borders.

Arthur had only ever been to the village once, years before. It had been summer then, a proper summer, and the heat and eastern winds had not blended well with the smell of the pig sties.

It might be closer to the winter solstice than summer, but the smell greeting them as they crossed the bridge into town was strong and oppressive.

Arthur quickly pulled the neck of his shirt over his nose, the smell of his own musk preferable to that which greeted them at the town’s edge.

“That’s the smell of death,” Lancelot said, his voice muffled as he covered his mouth and nose with his hand.

“Maybe we should go around,” Merlin suggested. They were all standing in the middle of the road, each holding a sword except for Merlin. “We can cut through the wheat fields near the old temple, circle back that way.”

“Do you see anyone?” Leon asked, ignoring Merlin’s pleading tone.

Arthur tightened the grip on his sword. “Keep your eyes open,” he warned. They could hear the harried caws of crows in the distance, but none of the sounds usually heard within a village.

There were no pigs, no horse drawn carts, or stray dogs begging for food. There were no people.

They left the horses at the bridge and walked slowly towards town, each looking in a different direction, watching for a sign of life.

The smell worsened as they reached the main street. The stables were empty, any horses that had been kept there were long gone.

Gwaine pushed aside a broken door that was barely hanging on its hinges. “Tack room’s been ransacked,” he called out. “Saddles are gone, everything that’s left is either broken or dry rotted.”

The tavern was in worse shape. The tables and chairs were all in place, but the bar had been completely destroyed. The floor was littered with broken bottles, chipped mugs, and a sticky film that was the result of spilt mead.

The body was slumped against the wall, chin tucked to chest, and an arrow sticking out from under the right armpit. It was obvious he’d been dead for at least a week.

Merlin grabbed a tattered dishcloth and placed it over the man’s face. “Where’s the rest of the town?”

“I think I might know,” Lancelot announced from the open door. He led them past the town’s Inn, through a row of seemingly abandoned houses and shops, to the remains of the large pig pens.

“I counted over a hundred before I went to find you,” Lancelot said quietly.

The pen was full of bodies, each laid out carefully beside the other, forming several long rows. It was obvious someone had taken the time to cover each of the dead with a cloth, but it wasn’t enough to stop the birds from getting to them.

Lancelot turned away, grabbed his sword, and angrily stabbed it into the ground. “AArrgh! You can look at the bodies and see this wasn’t from the drought! These people did not starve to death, this was murder!”

“A massacre,” Merlin whispered. He was standing at the edge of the fence, fingers twitching at his side. “There are one hundred, seventy-two bodies,” he said, “Seventy-three counting the barman.”

“That would have been the majority of the village,” Arthur estimated. He watched as Merlin’s fingers twitched again.

“They didn’t bury them,” Merlin said, and Arthur was surprised at the amount of sadness in his friend’s voice. “They just…”

“With this many people, they would have had to burn them,” Arthur explained slowly. Merlin knew this, Arthur was sure. “That’s not an option. Whoever laid these people here, they did what they could.”

The cloths covering the bodies began to stir, and for a horrifying moment, Arthur thought the dead had come to life. But as he the cloths continued to move, Arthur realized it wasn’t the dead waking, but a wind rippling over the enclosure.

“Merlin…” Leon cautioned, and Arthur instantly remembered the wind storm from the clearing, the one that had emerged from nowhere, and the way Lancelot had come running for him, warning of Merlin’s magic.

Arthur stepped forward and grabbed Merlin’s wrist, grounding him. “Merlin, look at me.” For once, Merlin did as he was told without reply. His eyes weren’t the solid, bright gold that Arthur was used to seeing when Merlin did magic, but were ringed in a pale yellow, the blue outlined in a soft glow. It was unlike anything Arthur had ever seen.

“People deserve better than this,” Merlin said, and the gold flickered. “They were just slaughtered and laid out like…” Arthur could feel the wind now, blowing slightly against his sweat dampened skin.

“Merlin, your magic,” Arthur warned, but Merlin pulled his wrist free from Arthur’s grasp, aimed his hand at the rows of bodies and let his eyes burn gold.

There was no warning, no hint at what he was about to do. From one moment to the next, the wind shifted, changing from a gentle, warning breeze, to powerful force. The wind whipped over the enclosure, hitting the scavenging birds and forcing them away.

In a flurry of feathers, the birds flew to the sky, cawing angrily as they made their way from the village. And just as suddenly as it had come, the wind died down. Merlin dropped his hand heavily to his side, turned blue eyes towards Arthur and asked, “Can we leave now?”

Arthur couldn’t see a reason not to, and with one last glance at the remains of Russiton, they put the village behind them.

***

Merlin was miserable. It was hot, his feet hurt, his magic felt weird, and he couldn’t get the image of what he’d seen back in the village out of his mind.

“We’ll make certain they’re put to rest,” Lancelot had promised, “When all of this is done, we’ll have a proper burial. We won’t just leave them there, Merlin.”

But Merlin wasn’t sure if this would ever be over. As they walked further into Essetir, Merlin’s imagination conjured images of empty villages and abandoned castles. He thought of Ealdor and his mother, imagined the field behind their home littered with bodies.

He thought of the weird dream with the old man and the flower. The man had said he was dying, and Merlin had felt it, had sensed it with his magic. Much like he could sense it now as he hiked along the forest’s edge, but there was no mysterious old man on the beach here. Just the drought plagued earth and her dying people.

They marched in silence for the first hour, passed the water when needed, and took turns leading the horses, mindful for signs of sun sickness.

Eventually, Gwaine grew restless with the steady silence and began questioning their destination again. Listening to Arthur explain for the third time the directions the refugee villagers had given, Merlin felt himself grow even more tired. He fully expected the mysteriously floating orb to be hidden well out of sight, and was anticipating a long and arduous search.

But the orb wasn’t hidden.

They cleared the ridge of the drop off near Clear Creek and made their way across the first of many open fields when they saw it.

It was glowing blue, it was floating, and it was sort of egg shaped.

“I’ll be damned,” Gwaine laughed, pointing to the orb. It was located near the edge of the field, just a few meters from the tree line of the forest, but very much in open view of all who walked by.

Merlin was baffled. “Why wouldn’t they hide it? The druids don’t just practice magic in the open, not even in Essetir.”

The orb was a little smaller than the average shield in size. As they got closer, they realized the ‘orb’ was really a floating crystal, jagged and clear, the blue light shining from within.

Merlin could feel the power radiating from it in his bones, shaking his spine, and itching along the space between his brain and skull.

It was calling to him.

Of course, Arthur’s first instinct would be to hit it with a sword.

“No, Arthur! Stop!” Merlin yelled, grabbing Arthur’s arm and pulling him and the raised sword away from the crystal. “It’s not evil. I don’t…it doesn’t feel bad.”

Arthur looked at it and sneered, “Then what is it?”

“I don’t…” Merlin just stared at it.

“Merlin?”

“It doesn’t feel bad,” he repeated, sounding dazed. Before anyone could stop him, Merlin reached forward, his fingers touching the crystal. The light brightened, Merlin felt his entire body jerk, his head thrown back, eyes rolling in their sockets before he collapsed, unconscious.

“Merlin!”

***

“Merlin, come on. Wake up! Wake up, Merlin!” Arthur patted the side of Merlin’s face and pinched his cheek. Merlin didn’t stir.

Gwaine dropped down beside them and placed his hand on Merlin’s chest. “Is he breathing?”

Arthur put his ear to Merlin’s mouth and nearly laughed in relief at the small, steady puffs of air. “Yeah, yeah, he’s breathing.”

“Merlin? Come on, mate. Open your eyes.” Gwaine pressed his knuckle into the center of Merlin’s chest and rubbed. Arthur knew from experience just how uncomfortable that was, but Merlin didn’t move.

He laid heavily on the ground, sprawled out like a child’s doll.

Arthur looked back to the crystal, which had now begun to glow a blindly white, and felt a sudden sense of panic. He didn’t know how to fight magic. He didn’t even understand what kind of magic this was, let alone how to counteract it.

He knew basic first aid, skills necessary to get a soldier through a battle. But this wasn’t a knife wound or a dislocated shoulder. He didn’t know what this was, and the only person in his group who would was currently unconscious.

“Do you think if we were to break the crystal, it’d break the spell?” Leon asked, sounding just as lost as Arthur felt.

“The crystal cannot be broken,” a deep voice called from behind them. “And it is not a spell.”

Arthur grabbed his sword and spun around. Gwaine and the others did the same. A black man wearing faded red robes was standing calmly at the edge of the forest.

“What did you do to him?” Arthur hissed, demanding an answer. The man looked to Merlin’s prone form, and with a cautious look towards Arthur and his Knights, he began to walk towards them, slow and steady.

When the man got within striking distance, he gestured to Merlin and held his hands up in peace. “I just want to check on him.”

Arthur briefly considered not letting the man near Merlin, but one glance at Merlin’s slackened jaw and closed eyes and he realized he had no choice but to put his anger aside. At least, for the moment.

“What’s wrong with him?” he asked, stepping aside and allowing the man access to Merlin. Mindful of Arthur’s sword, the man knelt on the ground to look at Merlin. With one hand, he placed fingers on the side of Merlin’s neck. With the other, he lifted one of Merlin’s eyelids, exposing a sightless blue eye.

“He will be alright,” the man assured them. “We can bring him to our camp. Emrys can rest there.”

Gwaine looked back and forth between Arthur and the kneeling man. “Who’s Emrys?”

“It’s what the druids call Merlin,” Arthur explained, watching as the man continued to check Merlin over. “You’re a druid.”

The man beamed up at Arthur. “He’s told you then, about his magic?” The man looked back down and smoothed his thumb over Merlin’s forehead. “And he still lives…there’s much hope for you, Arthur Pendragon.”

Arthur could feel his Knights watching him, waiting to see his response. It’s a touchy subject, one that Arthur’s skirted since learning that Merlin was, at least in the eye of Camelot, a traitor.

Lancelot, seeming to sense Arthur’s discomfort, asked, “Who are you?”

“I am Aglain,” he said, standing and offering his hand. Lancelot didn’t hesitate. He accepted Aglain’s offered hand with a friendly smile. “I’m Lancelot. You can help Merlin?”

Aglain nodded and gestured back to the forest. “Our camp is just through the trees,” he said, “he just needs to rest.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Arthur asked.

“For lack of a better term, he’s drained,” Aglain told them. “He’s in a deep sleep.”

“A deep sleep?” Gwaine sounded incredulous. “He’s completely unresponsive!”

“A deep, deep sleep,” Aglain amended, earning an unamused scowl from Gwaine. Arthur was glad to see he wasn’t the only unhappy with the druid’s assessment.

Gwaine sheathed his sword and crossed his arms. “And how do we wake him from this _deep, deep_ sleep?”

“We don’t. Emrys will wake on his own when he is ready.” Without another word, Aglain turned and headed towards the forest. “The camp is this way,” he yelled over his shoulder.

Arthur honestly didn’t like the idea of walking into a druid encampment, especially with the only member of his team capable of magic lying unconscious. But the whole point of their journey was to find the druids and learn about the mysterious crystal and what they could tell them about the drought.

Aglain had stopped at the first of the trees. “You can put away your swords, Arthur Pendragon,” he told them. “You have my word, we are willing to keep peace as long as you and your men do the same.”

Every instinct, every ingrained lesson was reminding Arthur that magic was bad, that the druids were the enemy. But Lancelot had already sheathed his sword and was bending to pick up Merlin, and Arthur remembered that magic wasn’t the enemy he was raised to believe, not anymore.

“A truce?” he asked, looking to Aglain who was still waiting patiently.

“A truce,” Aglain agreed with a smile before spreading his hands in a welcoming gesture.

Lancelot went first, Merlin hanging limply in his arms. Gwaine, an uncomfortable frown on his face, went to gather the horses that had taken the liberty to graze some distance away.

Leon put away his sword and stood his ground, making it clear he was waiting to follow Arthur’s lead.

With no other choice, Arthur sheathed his weapon and set out towards the forest.

***

The druid camp was smaller than any other Arthur remembered seeing. There were no children running between tents, no lines strung between trees holding drying laundry, or cooking pots set over a small fire.

In fact, there was hardly any ‘camp’ at all.

A single canopy lean-to, large enough to hold five men, was strung up against a broad tree. There were a few buckets of water, another holding what looked to be a mixture of dried vegetables, and a series of blankets made to serve as bedrolls.

“You can lay him in here,” Aglain instructed, pointing Lancelot towards a cleared spot on the ground. “It’s not a bed in the castle of Camelot, but it will do.”

“Aglain was certain that Emrys would come,” said a young man sitting near the tent. “But he did not mention that Arthur Pendragon would be with him.”

The man was about Arthur’s age, his hair a lighter blonde with dark brown eyes. He was wearing a robe similar to Aglain’s, but unlike Aglain, this man didn’t seem as pleased to see Arthur and his men.

“Show peace, Garridan,” Aglain ordered, stepping forward and pushing the young man back with a gently shove. “We knew Emrys would find us, it was foreseen.”

“And him?” Garridan asked, tilting his head to an annoyed Arthur. Aglain shrugged and offered an amused smile. “We were warned that where one goes, the other follows.”

“And you trust that he will keep the peace? He’s hunted our kind since birth, Aglain!” Garridan hissed.

Aglain’s smile vanished. He nodded and looked to Arthur solemnly, and for a moment, Arthur feared their truce had already found its end. But Aglain placed a calming hand on Garridan’s shoulder and pointed to where Merlin was lying on the ground.

“He knows of Emrys, Garridan. He knows of his magic, and he still keeps his council.” Aglain’s voice was steady and low, the deep timbre deceptively soothing. But Arthur could easily detect the sense of hope Aglain was trying to hold back. “This man is not Uther Pendragon.”

“We come here in peace,” Arthur assured him. Slowly, he untied his belt and let his sword fall to the ground. “I did not travel all this way to fight. You have my word.”

Though Garridan did not seem overly impressed with Arthur’s demonstration, he relented his argument and offered Arthur and the Knights a place to sit. His ‘offer’ consisted of a hastily gestured finger pointed towards an available log, but Arthur was willing to take what he could get.

“I assume you’re here to ask about the crystal,” Aglain stated, bending his large frame and sitting on the ground. “We’ve had a few people ask about it. We knew it was only a matter of time before word reached Camelot.”

Arthur left the log for the others and sat down beside Merlin. He had to stop himself from reaching out and grabbing his hand. “You haven’t exactly hidden it.”

“We would have done if we could,” Garridan informed him, sounding just a hint more hospitable. “We didn’t really have a lot of choice in the matter.”

“Why’s that?” Gwaine asked. He was sitting on the fallen log, elbows propped on his knees with a decidedly distrustful scowl on his face. “What’s it do?”

The question was directed to Garridan, but Aglain intervened and explained simply, “It channels our magic.”

Gwaine was no longer scowling, but he still looked confused. “Channels it where?”

“Back into the earth,” Aglain said, and sensing their next questions, he reached down and scooped up a handful of the fallen, dead leaves. “This is no ordinary drought. It is a sign that the earth is sick.”

“What’s making it sick?” Arthur was careful not to sound accusing. As much as he didn’t want magic to be the cause for the drought, he needed it to have a workable remedy.

“Magic,” Aglain admitted. He held up a hand when Arthur opened his mouth to speak and shook his head. “But not in the way you’re thinking. It’s the absence of magic that’s causing the drought, not the presence of it.”

“You asked why we didn’t hide the crystal? Why it’s where it is?” Garridan asked, sounding less and less uninviting as he continued to talk. “Think of the earth like a human body. Blood is everywhere within us, but it _flows_ through our veins. Magic is the same way. It can be found almost anywhere in the world, but there are places where it flows stronger, rivers of it deep within the earth.”

“Magic is the earth’s blood, and it’s lost too much of it,” Aglain added. “And we all know what happens when something loses too much blood…”

“It dies,” Gwaine whispered, and Arthur felt that phantom pain in his shoulder again.

He looked to Merlin who still hadn’t moved. “How is the earth losing magic?”

Garridan’s features darkened. “Its magic is being killed off,” he said shortly, and Arthur imagined it had taken a lot for the druid not to yell.

 Aglain laid his hands on his knees, and took a calming breath. “Years ago, Uther Pendragon set about to rid the world of all things magical. For decades, he has systematically killed each and every person he so much as _suspected_ had magic. He just didn’t realize he was killing the rest of the world, too.”

Arthur felt his mouth fill with saliva, felt an uncomfortable pull on his gag reflex. “How do we fix it?”

“With magic,” Aglain explained. He gestured towards the field and the still bright, white crystal. “That’s what the crystal is for. We locate the earth’s vein of magic and place the crystal over it. Then we put our magic into the crystal and let it channel it back into the earth. It’s a slow process, and we can only add a little magic at a time. But…there aren’t enough of us left to undo what’s been done.”

“Except…” Garridan looked to Merlin.

“Except what?” Arthur asked.

“Emrys,” Garridan breathed the name. “He touched the crystal and the magic turned _white_.”

Gwaine cocked his head to the side and twisted his mouth into a crooked, cocky grin. “I’m guessing by the awestruck tone of worship in your voice that that’s unusual.”

Garridan straightened his shoulders, and Arthur noted a slight blush to his cheeks. “It shows that Emrys is powerful.”

“If he’s so powerful, why is he still unconscious?” Lancelot asked. He hadn’t spoken since entering the camp, and Garridan looked surprised to hear him talk.

“Because he touched the crystal,” Garridan explained in a tone that made it plain he thought it obvious. “No one can touch it directly, it will drain too much too fast.”

Gwaine turned an accusing glare on Aglain. “But you said he’d be okay.”

“And he will be,” Aglain told him, seemingly unconcerned with Gwaine’s threatening scowl. “Like I said, Emrys is powerful. The crystal took a lot from him, but he will be fine. The fact that he is still alive after giving that much magic is...” he trailed off, looked at Merlin, and shook his head in dismay.

Arthur looked at Merlin, too. Merlin’s head had listed to the side, his lips were parted, his eyes unmoving. Arthur focused on the steady rise and fall of Merlin’s chest. ““You’re not exactly making us feel better.”

“His power is hopeful,” Garridan elaborated. He shifted in his seat and smiled fully for the first time since Arthur met him.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       

Arthur looked at the excited smile and felt a hint of hope.  “You think Merlin can fix this? That he can cure the earth?”

“No one man can fix this.” Aglain’s voice was heavy and tired. Garridan’s smile vanished and, though he didn’t say anything, he cast Aglain a disappointed pout.

“You don’t agree,” Arthur asked, ignoring the disapproving frown Aglain was giving them.

Garridan shook his head. “There are some who believe him capable. Seers who—”

“Seers who have lost touch with reality,” Aglain snapped, losing his calm bearing. “Do not put false hope in the dreams of the insane. And do not put this burden on one man’s shoulders.” He looked to Merlin again, this time with pity rather than awe. “No one should be expected to take on the fate of the world, no matter _how_ powerful he is.”

Arthur and the Knights had many more questions, and the druids answered what they could, and offered theories and guesses when they couldn’t. Despite, however, the druids’ vast knowledge of magic and access to seers and prophecies, there was one question that no one seemed to know.

Just how powerful was Merlin?

***

The glow from the crystal could be seen through the trees, shining like a beacon. The sun had set hours before and everyone had claimed a spot on the cleared ground to get some sleep.

Aglain had assured them that the magic around the site would alert them to any intruders and that there was no need for a look out. Arthur had relented enough to agree there was no need to have one of his men posted at the perimeter, but not so much that he felt at ease enough to fall asleep.

Or that’s what he was telling himself as he laid awake watching the flicker of Merlin’s white magic sparkle through the trees.

And it _was_ sparkling.

The crystal wasn’t moving, they had all checked on it before retiring for the night, yet the light danced around the trees, making the shadows move. The magical light was shimmering, and even Aglain hadn’t been able to hide his amazement at the sight of it.

Arthur was lying beside Merlin, the need to know he was still breathing overriding the desire to keep up appearances in front of his men. Though, considering the way Leon had smirked when Arthur laid his bedroll right next to Merlin, Arthur figured he wasn’t fooling anyone anyway.

Merlin had given up imitating the dead a few hours back, and had begun shifting in his sleep, snorting occasionally, and all round doing a rather good job in convincing Arthur that he truly was actually sleeping and not on the verge of dying.

At some point, Merlin had rolled onto his front and had folded his arms beneath his head as a pillow. Arthur was lying on his back and kept alternating between staring at the stars, watching the shadows dance from Merlin’s magic, and watching Merlin’s eyes shift beneath their lids.

If you ignored Gwaine and Aglain’s snoring, it was a decidedly peaceful night. Arthur even imagined it was a few degrees cooler than it had been the nights before. But no matter which way he laid, how hard he tried to clear his mind, Arthur couldn’t sleep.

He kept thinking of magic, of his father and the countless executions he’d witnessed throughout the years. He thought of the ones he carried out.

He was fifteen the first time he lit a pyre, only a few months older when he led a small battalion into the forest and leveled a druid camp.

With each life they had taken, they had promised the death of many more, magic or not. Aglain had expounded on Garridan’s _the earth is a human body_ analogy, telling them to imagine each sorcerer as an extension of the earth’s body. A fingernail, a single hair, a hand, a leg.

Arthur’s father had been removing those extensions steadily for years, sometimes only one sorcerer at a time, sometimes by the hundreds. It was only a matter of time before Uther succeeded, his strict and absolute stance on magic swinging the final blow and relieving the earth of its metaphorical head.

Arthur couldn’t help feeling he knew exactly who that metaphorical head would be. He reached his arms over his own head, and twisted his hips, groaning as he stretched. He then turned on his side and froze at the confused and sleepy looking eyes staring back at him.

“Hello,” Arthur whispered. He suddenly realized just how closely he was lying next to Merlin.

“Hello?” Merlin whispered back. His voice was deeper than usual, croaky with disuse and sleep. He lifted his head, ran his tongue along his lips, and looked around. “Where are we?”

“Druid camp,” Arthur explained. Merlin’s eyebrows knitted together. “Long story short, you touched the floating crystal and fainted like a girl, we met two druids, found out the earth is dying because Camelot’s been taking away all of its magic, and Gwaine’s a little jealous that you have a secret nickname with the druids and he doesn’t.”

It took a few moments before Merlin seemed to process everything Arthur said, but eventually he blinked slowly and asked, “The earth’s dying?”

“It doesn’t have enough magic left and it’s gotten sick,” Arthur told him, “Or at least that’s how Aglain and Garridan explained it. This everlasting summer, the drought? It’s the earth’s version of running a fever.”

Merlin’s eyes widened. “Aglain?”

“Yeah,” Arthur said, “Do you know him?”

Merlin laid his head back down and rubbed his forehead against his wrist. “Sort of,” he mumbled towards the ground, “I almost met him once a long time ago, with Morgana.”

Arthur’s brain still wanted to see Morgana as the friendly, good-natured girl she had been years before. He was still having a hard time reconciling the hateful, heartless woman he had last seen with the person he knew growing up.

“Do the druids know how to fix it?” Merlin asked, and for a moment, Arthur thought he was talking about Morgana.

“The magic? They’re channeling their magic back into the earth, but if you ask me they don’t sound too hopeful.” Arthur bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from telling Merlin that some of the druids thought _Merlin_ had the power to fix it.

“They’re using the crystals to channel the magic?” Merlin asked, and Arthur told him all of what Aglain and Garridan had said. When Arthur had finished, Merlin reached his hand out and placed it on the ground.

Arthur watched as Merlin closed his eyes and smiled. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“I can feel the magic.” Merlin opened his eyes, and Arthur expected to see gold, but they were still blue, almost black in the darkness. “Feel.”

Arthur frowned and, feeling foolish, pressed his palm into the dirt. All he felt was an ant crawling under his thumb.

“Close your eyes,” Merlin instructed.

 Arthur closed his eyes and focused on the dirt beneath his hand. After nearly a minute of nothing more than an itchy palm, Arthur sighed in frustration. “Maybe you have to have magic to feel magic.”

“No,” Merlin whispered, and he reached out and placed his hand atop Arthur’s. “You have to listen.”

Arthur wasn’t really sure what listening had to do with feeling for magic, but he did as he was told. Gwaine and Aglain were steadily snoring. He could hear crickets chirping. One of the horses stomped its foot.

He was so relaxed just lying there listening to the nightly sounds around him that he almost missed the slow, rhythmic pounding pressing up against his palm. Arthur opened his eyes and gasped. Merlin grinned and squeezed his hand. “You feel it?”

“It’s like a heartbeat,” Arthur whispered in awe.

“Thu-thud, thu-thud,” Merlin said. He yawned and tucked his arms back under his head. “I’ve heard it before, I just didn’t know what it was.”

Arthur’s hand felt cold without Merlin’s holding it down. He flexed his fingers and tucked them under his head, squishing them between his ear and bicep like a pillow. Without thinking, he looked at Merlin and asked, “How powerful are you?”

Merlin shrugged and closed his eyes as he mumbled, “Don’t know. Gaius says he’s never met anyone like me before.”

“The druids seem to think you’re special,” Arthur pointed out. Merlin simply hummed in agreement.

“Merlin, are you asleep?”

“Tired,” Merlin answered, emphasizing the point by yawning again. Arthur remembered Aglain warning them that Merlin would be tired for a while, and while he wanted to let Merlin rest so he could recover, he wanted answers more.

Arthur reached out and poked Merlin’s shoulder. “Do you know why your magic would turn the crystal white?”

“No idea,” Merlin told him, sounding completely unconcerned. Arthur twisted his mouth in indecision. Aglain had counseled against placing all the responsibility for restoring the earth’s magic upon Merlin. Arthur didn’t want to place that burden on Merlin, but asking Merlin if he could help wasn’t the same as saying it was completely up to him.

Arthur glanced to the druids and, content that they were still asleep, he rolled onto his stomach and mirrored Merlin, his head resting on his folded arms.

“Merlin?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think your magic could heal the earth?”

Merlin opened his eyes. “I don’t know,” he admitted. He lifted his head and rubbed his thumb along his lip.  “Pretty sure that would be outside the limits of my abilities.”

“Well, what are your limits then?”

Merlin turned down the corners of his mouth as he thought. “I honestly don’t know. I usually find out once I reach them.”

“You managed to kill Nimueh with a bolt of lightning,” Arthur pointed out.

“And yet I couldn’t heal a cut on your hand,” Merlin mused. He rested his chin on his folded hands and looked out towards the white crystal. “With Nimueh…that wasn’t planned, it wasn’t a studied spell or incantation.  That was just instinct. Almost all of the really powerful stuff I’ve managed to do was reflexive, and I probably couldn’t do it again if I tried.”

“So, you’re not holding back on us?” Arthur asked in jest. “No hidden powers that we don’t know about?”

Merlin laughed as he laid his head back down and closed his eyes. “If they’re hidden, they’re hidden from me as well.”

Arthur looked back to the crystal still shining just as brightly through the trees. The world was dying and Camelot was to blame. The Pendragons were to blame.

“Maybe Gaius will know what to do,” Arthur thought aloud. When Merlin didn’t comment, Arthur looked over to find him fast asleep.

Arthur was quickly learning that being alone with his thoughts was not a good thing. Guilt weighed heavily on his mind and the thought that the world would die because of something he helped do…

Arthur closed his eyes, scooted closer to Merlin, and fell asleep.

***

When Merlin woke the next morning, it took him several minutes to remember where he was. The memory of his conversation with Arthur the night before was hazy and distant, and were it not for the fact that a drooling Arthur was laying a hand’s breadth away, he would have thought it all a dream.

It wasn’t long before the rest of the camp began to stir, each happy to find Merlin awake. Breakfast consisted of hard cheese and the remainder of their dried venison, but Merlin quickly found it difficult to eat thanks to Garridan’s constant stream of questions and concerns.

He looked to Aglain for help, but the elder druid seemed amused at the interaction and proceeded to hide his smile behind his food.

The crystal, which had burned white throughout the night, was slowly turning blue again, the light not as bright.

“What’s that mean?” Merlin asked, careful to stand at least two meters back. His fingers still tingled from his last encounter with the crystal, and he wasn’t keen to try it again.

“That the magic is draining,” Aglain explained. “We’ll have to add more in a day or two.”

Thanks to their dwindling supplies, packing to leave took almost no time at all. Arthur shook hands with Aglain, advised him that they would most likely be meeting again, and one by one, they made their way across the field.

It was as they reached the familiar ridge of the valley near Ealdor that Merlin gathered the courage to ask, “Do you think your father will repeal the ban on magic once he learns what it’s done?”

Arthur didn’t answer right away. He walked on, eyes staring hard at the ground before him.

“Arthur?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur admitted, and Merlin felt his chest ache with the hurt in Arthur’s voice. “My father doesn’t just hate magic, he loathes it.”

“But the earth is dying, _we_ will die if we don’t fix this,” Merlin pointed out.

Arthur stopped walking and turned to Merlin. “Tell me, Merlin, what do you think will happen if I walk into Camelot and announce that the world’s going to end because the King has banned magic, that sorcerers aren’t all evil, and that by killing all of them, we’ve actually done more harm than good?”

Merlin wanted to believe that the King would be reasonable and do what needed to be done to protect his people, but experience had taught him that when it came to magic, Uther Pendragon could not be reasoned with.

Judging by the looks on Leon, Gwaine, and Lancelot’s faces, they were thinking the same.

Arthur stood there, hands on hips, head tilted down. “I have no doubt my father will just declare that the druids are lying. He’ll be convinced that they’re to blame and we’ll be no closer to solving this problem than we were before we even left Camelot.”

“Then what do we do?” Merlin asked.

“I don’t know,” was Arthur’s answer.

Without another word, they resumed walking, but as they reached the end of the valley, Merlin asked, “Do you think you could all not mention the whole the world might end thing to my mother? She tends to worry.”

Leon snorted. “No problem. Wouldn’t want her to worry over something small like that.” Merlin couldn’t help laughing with the others. And the closer they got to Ealdor, the bigger his smile grew.

It’d been nearly a year since he’d last seen his mother, even longer since he’d visited the village. He had a lot to tell his mum, including the fact that Arthur now knew of his magic. It was already going to be a trying visit, and the last thing he wanted was to scare her with the news from the druids.

Their moods had considerably brightened as they neared the village, each of them threatening to tell Hunith embarrassing stories about her son and laughing at Merlin’s reaction. It wasn’t long before they reached the final hill overlooking Ealdor and the village came into view.

It was completely empty. There were no hogs or goats in the pen, no chickens running through the street, no people.

Merlin felt his fingers go numb as he looked at the empty roads and vacant windows.

“Merlin…” Gwaine said as he placed a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “Why don’t you wait here? Let us check it out?”

But Merlin wasn’t about to wait behind. He marched forward, chest heaving as he tried to remember to breathe. Each step was faster and faster until he was running, panting and choking on fear.

“Mother!” he yelled, slamming open the door to their small home. She wasn’t there. He turned around and nearly ran into Arthur standing in the doorway. “Arthur,” Merlin gasped, feeling threateningly close to sobbing.

“Out here!” someone called, and Arthur pulled a frazzled Merlin out into the yard. Gwaine was standing in the center of town, facing the fields east of the village.

Merlin nearly fell in his haste to see what Gwaine was pointing at, but Arthur caught him just before his head connected with the side of the broken fence. When they reached Gwaine, Merlin looked out towards the fields, terrified that he was about to see a flock of birds pecking on his mother’s eyes.

But there were no birds.

There were no bodies, living or dead, nothing that Merlin could see but a trodden through wheat field. “What am I supposed to be looking at?” he asked. His voice was thick, and he could already feel snot running down his nose despite his attempt at holding back his tears. “I don’t see anything.”

“The field, Merlin,” Gwaine explained. He walked forwards and pointed to the trampled stalks of dead wheat. “Someone’s walked through it.”

“A lot of someones,” Lancelot elaborated. “There are wagon tracks, too.”

Merlin felt dizzy. “What—”

“They left, Merlin. And they did so alive,” Gwaine assured him. “Dead people don’t leave tracks, and there are no signs of a fight here.”

Arthur stepped forward and rested his hand on the back of Merlin’s neck. “She’s alive, Merlin.”

Merlin stifled a sob and sniffed loudly. “She would have gone to Camelot. She would have gone to find me, she wouldn’t just…pack up and leave without letting me know.”

“We don’t know where she went, but Merlin, look at the evidence,” Arthur squeezed his neck reassuringly. “No one died here.”

Merlin looked at the mess of tracks leading away from town. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that Ealdor looked nothing like the destroyed husk of Russiton. There was nothing here to suggest that what had happened to the pig farming town had happened to this village.

“Okay?” Arthur asked.

Merlin sniffed again, and nodded. He was pretty certain that had he not just been drained by the druid’s crystal, his magic would have been out of control.

 They searched the rest of the village and made certain that no one was still there. Merlin saw some mice running through the hay in the barn, but other than that and a few spiders, there wasn’t any other sign of life.

“I’m sure the people of Ealdor wouldn’t mind if we spent the night,” Arthur mused, and they set about claiming abandoned houses for their own.

Merlin, of course, picked his mother’s home. Arthur did as well.

“Arthur, this is _my_ home,” Merlin explained for the third time.

“Hunith said I was always welcome,” Arthur argued. Merlin was not impressed.

“There’s only one bed,” Merlin said, watching as Arthur walked around the small room like he owned the place. “I’m not sleeping on the floor.”

Arthur pushed the abandoned cooking pot hanging in the fireplace with the toe of his boot. The metal chains holding it up made a creaking noise as he said distractedly, “You used to sleep on the floor all the time. You told me so yourself.”

“True,” Merlin admitted. “But that was a long time ago and I’ve grown accustomed to sleeping in a bed. I see no reason why I should have to sleep on the floor.” He crossed his arms defiantly and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Especially in my mother’s house.”

“I’m the prince,” Arthur declared rather pompously in Merlin’s opinion. “And princes do not sleep on the floor. Especially when there’s a bed available.”

“Then you should probably find somewhere else to sleep, because there’s not a bed available in this house.”

“Merlin.”

“Arthur.”

“I am not sleeping on the floor.”

“You slept on the floor last time you were here.”

“That’s because your mother took the bed.”

“So you’ll let my mother have the bed, but not me?”

“Well, yeah,” Arthur couldn’t quite hide his grin. “I like her better.”

“Bollocks,” Merlin said. They continued to stare at one another, neither willing to give in. Finally, Arthur stepped forward and gestured for Merlin to move. “Alright, Merlin, get up. Joke’s over.”

Merlin scrunched up his face and stood his ground. “I’m not joking.”

Arthur pushed Merlin on the shoulder. “Move, Merlin.”

“No.”

Arthur pushed him again. This time with more force. “Merlin—”

Merlin should have known it would turn into a tussle, Arthur always seemed to get physical when things didn’t go his way. Thanks to long arms and bony elbows, he managed to get in a few lucky shots, but just like every time before when they had wrestled, Merlin found himself on the losing end.

It was only a few seconds before Arthur had Merlin’s arm pinned up beside his head. Merlin tried to twist himself free, but the movement combined with Hunith’s tiny bed sent them both crashing to the floor. Merlin felt the air pressed out of him as he was squished between the dust covered floorboards and Arthur’s weight.

“Ow,” he moaned, raising a hand to rub at the back of his head.

“Ow is right,” Arthur whined miserably. Still lying on Merlin, he propped himself up on one arm and rubbed his sore ribcage. “You’re nothing but knees and elbows, I swear.”

“You started it,” Merlin pointed out. He closed his eyes and let his arms flop to his sides, his muscles relaxing in a very tired surrender. He felt physically drained and wanted nothing more than to just go to sleep.

Except he couldn’t because Arthur was still lying on top of him.

Merlin took a deep breath and resigned himself to having to look for another place to sleep. When he opened his eyes, he fully expected to find that smug smirk of triumph Arthur always wore when he got his way. Instead, Merlin found himself looking at a particularly nervous and undecided Arthur.

He was so close Merlin could count Arthur’s eyelashes if he wanted.

“Arthur?”

Arthur squared his jaw, gave a _what the hell_ shake of his head, and leaned in.

The kiss was awkward, partly because Merlin was completely caught off guard and partly because Arthur seemed timid, like he wasn’t sure he actually knew what he was doing.

By the time Merlin’s brain finally caught up with the fact that Arthur was actually kissing him, it was over and Arthur was suddenly on the other side of the room.

Merlin blinked as the empty space above him and rolled over to look at Arthur who was standing next to the fireplace with his face buried in his hands.

Merlin wasn’t really certain what the protocol was when your egotistical prat of a prince decided to kiss you, but he knew that he had to tread carefully. The last thing he wanted was to mess this up.

Merlin pushed himself off the floor. His heart was beating so fast it felt like a hummingbird had taken nest in his chest. He tried to dust himself off, but found his hands were shaking too badly.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Arthur murmured. He placed one hand on his hip while the other rubbed an angry red mark against the back of his neck. “That was wrong of me.”

Merlin couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up, sounding more like a giggle than he’d like to admit. “A little awkward maybe, but I wouldn’t necessarily say _wrong_.”  

Arthur’s entire face wrinkled in confusion as he processed Merlin’s words. Merlin could tell when Arthur realized just what Merlin had said because his features slackened and his eyes went wide. “You’re, er…” he cleared his throat and tried to look casual. “You’re okay with what I did?”

Merlin shrugged. “I’m not upset by it, if that’s what you’re asking.” He was suddenly very conscious of his hands. Not knowing what else to do with them, he picked up the empty candle his mother had left behind and started peeling away the built up wax.

“Merlin, I kissed you.”

“I noticed.”

“And you’re…” Arthur pointed at Merlin, his expression hopeful but cautious.

“…Not entirely opposed to trying it again,” Merlin admitted. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been this terrified. “Maybe.”

Arthur stared dumbfounded. Finally, after much too long, he barked a laugh. “This is crazy,” he whispered, and laughed again.

Merlin was about to ask whether crazy was good or bad when Arthur spun on the spot and kissed Merlin again.

The second kiss was barely better than the first. Merlin was just as caught off guard as the first time and his mother’s candle holder clattered to the floor when he dropped it. Arthur still seemed just as timid and unsure, and like the first time, Arthur changed his mind a few seconds in and walked away.

Merlin definitely owed Leon an apology, Lancelot, too now that he was thinking about it. He’d have to deal with them later, however, because at the moment, Arthur looked to be lost in a life altering crisis.

“No, no,” Arthur was muttering to himself. “I can’t believe this is actually happening.”

Merlin pinched the soft patch of skin between his thumb and forefinger to keep himself from smiling like a fool. That feeling in his chest, the one he feared and questioned days before was back. “Can’t believe _what_ is actually happening?”

 “This,” Arthur explained, gesturing between himself and Merlin. “Whatever the hell _this_ is. I’m not sure when this happened.”

“It sort of took me by surprise as well,” Merlin admitted “I knew things had changed, I just hadn’t realized what they were changing to.”

“But I don’t remember falli---” he shook his head and started again. “What I’m trying to say is, I was not aware of, nor do I remember developing feelings for you.”

Merlin’s laugh was nervous. “Isn’t that how it’s supposed to be?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked at Merlin, opened his mouth to speak, closed it again and turned away only to repeat the process twice more.

“Words are better when they’re spoken out loud, Arthur,” Merlin suggested. Arthur’s twitchy reluctance to say what was on his mind was quickly making the nervous-happy feeling in Merlin’s stomach twist into a nervous-scared feeling.

“Have you ever…” Arthur closed his eyes as he searched for words. “Have you ever…used magic…on me?” he asked haltingly, like he didn’t really want to say the words.

Merlin was confused by the question. What did Merlin’s magic have to do with Arthur’s kisses? Weren’t they just discussing their feelings?

But then a thought entered his head, and Merlin felt like someone had reached in and squeezed the hummingbird beating in his chest. “Arthur are you asking me if I’ve enchanted you?” Merlin asked slowly.

Arthur looked as though he were about to deny it, but then he looked away and asked, “Could you have?”

Merlin felt dizzy. The adrenaline rush he had felt after the first kiss had suddenly grounded to a halt and his body didn’t know how to handle it. His mouth had gone dry and his throat felt thick but he forced himself to swallow before asking, “Do you really think I’d do that to you?”

Arthur shook his head and pulled tight on his hair. “No, but…What if it was an accident?” he asked, sounding too much like he was offering Merlin a way out. “Your magic’s been all over the place, what if—”

“Why would you even think that?” Merlin snapped. He was too upset to care about the way his voice trembled.

“Because I like you, Merlin! I really like you, maybe even…Aargh, damnit!” Arthur turned away and kicked the leg of Hunith’s table. He took a few, deep breaths and then said calmly “I just need to know why I feel this way.”

“You discover you have actual feelings and your first reaction is to assume that you’ve been enchanted?” Merlin could hear the coldness in his voice.

“Well, I mean,” Arthur grinned and nervously rubbed his chin.  “If you look at my history…”

“Do not laugh. This isn’t funny.” Merlin hissed, and Arthur’s smile vanished.

“Do not get angry with me,” Arthur ordered, and that was just too much for Merlin.

Adopting a falsely chipper tone, Merlin straightened his shirt, dusted off his trousers, and reached for his bag resting on the floor. “You know what? You’re right, you’re the Prince and you shouldn’t be sleeping on the floor. Take the bed.” He pushed his way past Arthur and pulled the door open with enough force to make the wood creak. “In fact, take the whole house for all I care. I’ll sleep in the bloody barn.”

“Merlin,” Arthur pleaded, “Merlin, wait!” but Merlin ignored him. He pulled the door shut behind him, felt his magic break through, and heard the very satisfying sound of the wooden door slamming shut.

He hadn’t meant to unleash his magic, hadn’t thought of anything past getting out of the house and away from Arthur. He was moving fast, wanting to get a head start before Arthur decided to chase after him, but judging by the angry banging sound coming from the house, Merlin’s magic had made certain Arthur wouldn’t be a problem.

 “Merlin! Open this door, Merlin! Merlin!”

Merlin walked past Leon and Lancelot, ignored their questioning glances, and made his way to the old barn past what remained of the widow Catherine’s vegetable garden. The barn was barely anything more than a shell of a building with an old loft tucked away in the upper corner.

Merlin had hidden there countless times throughout his childhood, and as he climbed the worn ladder, he quickly realized that it hardly changed at all.

The floor was still covered in moldy hay, the promise of mice was almost certain. The sunlight still peaked through the slatted roof, sending diagonal lines of sparkling light across the loft’s floor. Seeing the familiar site produced a profound wave of homesickness through Merlin. It turned out to be the proverbial push needed to break the dam.

Merlin crawled across the loft and nestled himself beneath the two rafters that stretched across the width of the barn. Just like he used to do when he was young, he pressed his back to the wall, pulled his knees into his chest, laid his head on his knees, and cried.

For two minutes, two whole minutes, Merlin had felt a giddy sense of happiness. All the questions and confusion that had accumulated over the last few weeks had finally been answered.

He had wondered why Arthur was acting different, why the subtle touches and the stares. Why Arthur felt the need to insist Merlin always be present. Constantly.

Arthur liked him, really liked him. He had kissed him.

Arthur also thought Merlin capable of enchanting him.

The ladder bounced against the floor of the loft, and Merlin could hear someone making their way up. He sniffed loudly and wiped his nose on his dirty sleeve. He hastily wiped away the tears and did his best to stop crying.

“Merlin?” Lancelot’s head peeked over the top of the ladder.

“I’m really not in the mood to talk, Lancelot,” Merlin told him, his voice stuttering once. Lancelot, however, didn’t seem to care what mood Merlin was in, because he climbed up onto the loft’s floor and crawled his way over to Merlin.

Lancelot sat right beside Merlin, his back pressed to the wall, knees pulled to his chest. “Merlin, what happened?”

Merlin sniffed again, the sound wet and almost too loud in the quiet of the barn. When Merlin didn’t answer, Lancelot leaned over and nudged him.

“He kissed me,” Merlin confessed, and would have laughed at the way Lancelot’s eyebrows rose high on his forehead if he didn’t feel so miserable. “And then he messed it all up. I told you he didn’t trust me anymore.”

“And I told you that Arthur was horrible with his feelings. I believe Gaius mentioned you were both idiots.”

Merlin cocked an eyebrow. “No he didn’t.”

“He did,” Lancelot assured him. “You had just left already.” Merlin didn’t really doubt it, and considering how he felt at the moment, he couldn’t really say he disagreed.

Lancelot leaned his weight against Merlin, pressing their arms together from shoulder to elbow. “Merlin, you’re my friend, and you know I would never lie to you or tell you something that I didn’t fully believe to be true.”

Merlin felt himself begin to cry again. He leaned his head back against his knees and watched as the tears fell and soaked into fabric of his dusty trousers.

“I need you to know, that I believe with all of my being that Arthur trusts you. I’ve heard him say it, and…Merlin, the way he is with you, you can’t be that close to someone and not trust them.”

Merlin reached forward and wrapped his hands around his shins, hugging his legs. “He asked me if I had enchanted him.”

Merlin felt Lancelot’s arm stiffen where it was pressed against him. He rolled his head against his knees and looked at his friend. Lancelot looked equal parts shocked and angry.

“Well,” he finally managed to say after a few moments of stunned silence. “Gaius was right. Absolute idiot.”

“That’s treason,” Merlin said with a grin.

“You of all people would know,” Lancelot grinned back. Merlin pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes and breathed in deeply, forcing himself to stay calm and stop crying. He was just about to ask Lancelot what the Knight thought Merlin should do when Leon’s voice called up from the barn floor below.

“Merlin?”

Merlin swallowed and tried to sound as though he hadn’t been crying. “Yeah?”

“Do you think you could maybe come down and unlock the door? Arthur’s getting angry. Well, angrier.”

Merlin couldn’t hold back a smirk. “Tell him to crawl out a window.”

“Yeah, those are magically locked, too,” Leon explained.

Merlin looked to Lancelot and saw his own surprise mirrored. Lancelot’s smile was wide as he said, “Well, at least we know your power’s coming back.”

***

Arthur didn’t feel the magical lock lift, didn’t see any bright lights or hear a spell. The only clue he received that the house was no longer locking him in was the slight creak as the window shutter relaxed in its frame.

Arthur walked towards the door and pulled gently, relieved to see it swing inwards. He expected to see an irate Merlin waiting outside, but all he found was Leon.

“Where is he?” Arthur asked. Leon pointed to a small hill covered by a patch of trees.

“Took a bucket and started marching that way,” Leon told him. Arthur remembered the layout of the village and its surrounding land from his first visit and the small battle he had helped wage. He vaguely recalled a creek of some type winding beyond the hill.

Arthur found Merlin sitting on a large rock, his boots off and one leg of his trousers rolled up to mid-shin. He glanced up when he heard Arthur walking towards him, but quickly went back to rolling up his other trouser leg.

“This doesn’t look like I remember it,” Arthur said, kicking a small stone into the shallow creek. He was hesitant and unsure what to say. ‘I’m sorry’ didn’t really feel like it would be enough.

“It’s dried up,” Merlin told him. He grabbed the bucket and stepped carefully into the water, mindful of slick moss and slippery stones. “I used to swim in this creek when I was younger.” The water reached just above his ankles now. “Used to be deeper.”

The land on either side of the creek was dark and scattered with stones and grey, dry moss. It was easy to see where the waterline used to stop, how deep it used to be.

Arthur sat down on the rock Merlin had just abandoned.  He watched as Merlin bent his knees, placed the bucket on its side, and attempted to fill it with water. He managed a few cups worth, but the low level was making it difficult.

“Gwaine managed to catch a few birds,” Merlin told him, filling the silence. “We’re gonna clean ‘em and see if they’re edible.”

“How much food do we have left?” Arthur asked, realizing they had at least a two day journey back to Camelot.

“There are a couple loaves of bread in Lancelot’s bag,” Merlin said, “And whatever’s in mine.”

Arthur pulled Merlin’s bag towards him, and rummaged around. “Merlin?”

“What?”

“There’s no food in here,” Arthur turned the bag upside down, emptying the contents onto the ground. Other than a book, a few spare shirts, and an impressive amount of crumbs, the bag was empty.

Merlin frowned at the pile of stuff. “Then we better hope grouse tastes good,” he said, and went back to trying to gather water.

Arthur picked up the shirts and stuffed them back into the bag. He grabbed the book next and was just about to put it in the bag when the cover shifted. At first, Arthur thought it might have been a trick of the light, but as he tilted the book again Arthur definitely saw what looked like the outline of a clasp.

He looked up to ask Merlin about it, but Merlin was already watching him, the bucket lying forgotten on its side. “It’s a glamour spell,” Merlin explained. He was trailing his fingers through the water as he talked. “Supposed to hide it in plain sight, but it’s starting to wear off.”

Arthur balanced the book on his knees and opened it. The first few pages contained nothing more interesting than a list of fungi common to the western shores, but as he turned the pages, the words blurred and the image of a weeded flower morphed into a creature with a forked tongue and wings.

“This is your spell book,” Arthur realized aloud. He hadn’t really looked at the book when Merlin first showed it to him. He had glanced at it, had skimmed it at best. But now, he saw the pages were filled with spells, some as simple as making something move without touching it, others as complex as bringing inanimate objects to life.

“Magic scares me sometimes,” Arthur admitted shyly. “It’s capable of doing so many things, and I have no way of defending myself.”

Merlin stared at the book balanced on Arthur’s lap before glancing up at Arthur. He looked tired. There were bags under his eyes, his cheekbones seemed to standout more, much sharper than Arthur remembered. He was due for a haircut and the light beard that had grown over the last week made him look older, more like a man than a gangly country boy.

Without saying a word, Merlin looked back down at the nearly empty bucket. He dipped his fingers back into the creek and twirled them slowly, stirring the water. The sunlight shining through the treetops sparkled on the ripples, matching the gold in Merlin’s eyes.

Slow but steady, water danced around Merlin’s fingers and flowed into the bucket. In no time at all, the bucket was full.

Merlin placed the bucket next to his bag and sat on the ground beside Arthur’s rock. “When I first moved to Camelot,” he said, reaching forward and picking blades of grass from his wet feet, “the only thing I knew about swordsmanship was that you weren’t supposed to grab the pointy end. It’s been years, and my biggest accomplishment with a blade is that I haven’t managed to stab myself.”

“Yeah, but Merlin, you have _magic_ ,” Arthur pointed out. “You don’t need a sword to defend yourself.”

Merlin laughed. “Arthur, my mere existence in Camelot is a death sentence. Yes, I could defend myself against an entire cavalry, but my life would be forfeit before the spell had finished.” His smile faded as he gestured towards the still open book. “Magic scares you because it’s an unknown. I spend every day surrounded by people who I know would see me dead if they knew the truth, and that scares me.”

Arthur imagined what it would be like to witness an execution and wonder if you’ll be next.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” Merlin whispered.

Arthur closed his eyes in guilt. “I’m sorry, Merlin. I just—” he began, but Merlin cut him off. “You don’t trust me anymore.”

“Yes, I do,” Arthur insisted, but Merlin was already shaking his head, his smile sad. “No. You don’t. Not like you used to, and that’s fine, I get it. I lied and I have to earn that trust back. It makes sense.”

Arthur reached out to squeeze Merlin’s shoulder, and couldn’t help sliding his thumb along Merlin’s collarbone. “I trust you,” he repeated,

Merlin shrugged his shoulder, gently pushing Arthur’s hand away. “Arthur, you accused me of enchanting you.”

Arthur knew it would sound bad when he asked it, and it wasn’t until he saw the complete devastation on Merlin’s face afterwards that he realized just how bad. “Look, the only time I’ve ever acted on my feelings like that was when I was enchanted, and I just thought maybe…it honestly made more sense for me to have been enchanted again than for me to have actually found someone who returned my feelings.“                                                                                                                                                                                                   

Merlin was digging his toes into the soft ground near the water’s edge. He still looked sad and wouldn’t look at Arthur. “What about Gwen?”

“Gwen was…” Arthur didn’t really know what Gwen was. He had cared for her, still did in fact, just not like he thought he did. “I held myself back with her, at first anyway. I didn’t let my feelings for her overcloud my judgment. And I…What I felt for Gwen was nothing like what I feel for you.”

Merlin wrinkled the ridge of his nose as he looked at Arthur in dismay. “So you’ve been walking around all this time wondering whether or not I had enchanted you?”

Arthur was surprised to hear himself laugh. “No, the thought didn’t pop into my head until after I kissed you. I felt this weird happiness and all I could think was this can’t be real.”

“What about the girl?” Merlin asked, grabbing the book in Arthur’s lap and holding it against his chest like a safety blanket. “The one from before, at the camp? With the fire?”

“What about her?” How did Merlin know about her?

“I saw you with her, behind the wagon.”

Arthur buried his face in his hands and groaned. He knew if he wanted to clear things up with Merlin, he had to be honest, he just didn’t want to be this honest this fast. Taking a deep breath, Arthur looked up towards the sky and said in a rush of air, “Honestly, the thought that I had feelings for you scared the hell out of me and I thought it’d be a good idea to make certain that I wasn’t just confusing my feelings for you as a friend with feelings of lust. So I kissed her.”

When he finally looked down, Merlin had a surprised smirk on his face. “You feel lust when you look at me?”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Arthur warned. “Your ears are big and you’re too skinny. But yeah, maybe.”

Arthur was pleased to see Merlin blush. After an awkward stretch of silence, Merlin asked, “Why were you so scared?”

Arthur shrugged. “Because you’re my friend, and I like having you around.”

“I wasn’t planning on going anywhere,” Merlin pointed out, but Arthur shook his head.

“It might not have been up to you,” he said, earning a confused frown from Merlin. “When I was young, like really young, I had a puppy, this mutt that I had found wandering around the market. I tried to keep it a secret, but it made a mess everywhere it went. Servants were slipping in puddles, and the damn thing kept barking. I loved that dog. But my father decided that it was distracting me from my lessons, and just like that, she was gone.”

“I’m not a dog,” Merlin informed him.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose in aggravation. Why couldn’t Merlin see it? “I know that, but he tried to send Gwen away because I refused to call it off. What do you think he’d do to you?”

“Like you said, I have magic,” Merlin reminded him. “I can defend myself.”

“Yeah, but at the cost of your life.”

***

Gwaine wasn’t an idiot, despite what everyone else might believe. He was careless, easy going, maybe a bit unobservant at times, and generally fun to be around, but he was not an idiot.

He had no idea what happened in Merlin’s mum’s house, and Lancelot wasn’t sharing about his and Merlin’s rendezvous in the barn, but Gwaine could tell something was wrong.

As if Arthur’s fierce banging on a magically locked door, and Merlin’s tear reddened face stomping off into the trees hadn’t been a big clue.

“I still say he should have given Merlin time to cool off,” Leon was saying. He was plucking one of the birds Gwaine had managed to catch and small tufts of downy feathers were sticking to his temple.

Lancelot was sharpening his knife on a stone, well away from Gwaine and Leon’s flying feathers. “No, I think this is something they need to work out, and waiting isn’t going to make it any better.”

“Don’t suppose you’ll change your mind and tell us what exactly happened?” Gwaine asked, tossing his handful of feathers to the side and frowning when they decided to stick to his sweaty hand. “Might be easier to take your word on it then.”

“Not my story to tell, Gwaine. I’ve already told you that.”

Gwaine rolled his eyes at Lancelot’s ever present sense of nobility and wiped his hand against the edge of his boot, ridding himself of the feathers.

Leon tossed his de-feathered bird on the table they’d found and brought outside, and pointed towards the trees. “Looks like Lancelot was right.”

Arthur and Merlin were walking side by side. Not as close as they normally did, Gwaine noted, but still within arm’s reach. “Still want to know what happened,” he grumbled and tossed his bird onto the table beside Leon’s. He had to look away when the loose neck of the grouse flopped awkwardly and boneless to the side.

“Let’s use a small fire,” Arthur advised as he sat a bucketful of water next to the table. “Keep it controllable and inside an actual fireplace. I’ll not have us burn this village to the ground all for a few scraps of meat.”

“They’re a bit more than scraps,” Gwaine said, slightly offended. “I’ll have you know that I—woah!” Something moving at the edge of town caught Gwaine’s eye. A little girl, hair black and untamed in a mountain of frizzy curls was walking around the edge of the barn. She was tiny, maybe hip height, and looked no older than six.

The others had seen her too, and were looking just as alarmed.

“What the hell is a child doing out here?” Leon whispered. Arthur slowly bent down and retrieved a knife from his boot.

“Keep your eyes open,” he ordered, tucking the knife into the back of his belt. “She might not be alone.”

As a group, they approached the little girl who seemed to have already noticed them and was watching them with a curious tilt to her head.

“Excuse me, sweetheart,” Lancelot said when they were about five meters away, his voice sounding calm and unthreatening. “Are you lost?”

The little girl, whose eyes Gwaine could now see were a dark burnt brown, ignored Lancelot and stared at Arthur.

“I know who you are,” she said, her voice light and playful. “You’re Arthur Pendragon.”

As one, they froze, the distance between them and the girl still large. Gwaine saw Arthur’s hand move an inch closer towards his belt before stopping. “I am,” he said, and the little girl’s lips quirked to the side in a crooked grin.

“Are you aware that the Pendragons have doomed us all?” she asked. Arthur shifted uncomfortably on his feet before steeling himself and saying, “I am. And I want to stop it, to undo what’s been done.”

The little girl rolled her eyes and took a few steps closer. Gwaine reached for his sword and backed away. With each step the girl took, she aged, her features morphing, shaping the baby fattened cheeks into the lean features of a teenager. It was smooth and subtle, and made Gwaine want to piss his pants.

“I’m sure you do,” she drawled sarcastically, dragging her bare feet through the dirt as she shifted from foot to foot. “I’m sure you truly feel bad.” As she talked, her face continued to change, her chin and nose sharpening into more defined features as her hips widened and the curve of her breasts began to swell beneath her grey dress.

Gwaine kept looking back and forth, wanting to keep his eyes on the obviously powerful magical something tiptoeing in front of him while also wanting to see if the others were as close to freaking out as he was.

He could only guess he still had a lot to learn, because the others, while they looked surprised, did not look overly alarmed.

Merlin, bless him, stepped forward with an angry expression. “He isn’t his father,” he declared, defending Arthur. Any other time, Gwaine would find the whole thing touching except the little girl, no, the _woman_ turned her attention towards Merlin and her face lit up with what could only be described as impressed glee.

“It’s you,” she whispered, morphing back into a younger version of herself. “You’re the power I’ve been feeling, you’re the one who’s been calling me, pulling me. I could feel your magic pulsing beneath my feet, whispering to me.”

Merlin shifted his shoulders uncomfortably, and said, “Yeah, it’s had a mind of its own lately. I’m working on it.”

She tilted her head, her features shifting again, aging her until it was an aged, arthritic hand reaching for Merlin.

Arthur immediately stepped between them, pushing Merlin behind. The woman, now ancient and wrinkled, her hair course, thin, and silver grinned, showing teeth that had yellowed and blackened. “You would protect him, Pendragon?”

“With my life,” Arthur said, not hesitating.

The woman’s features smoothed, reminding Gwaine of a wadded blanket slowly being pulled in different directions. A woman, no older than thirty, asked “Do you know who he is?” her tone was seductive. “ _What_ he is?”

Arthur turned down the corners of his mouth and shrugged. “An incredibly lazy servant with a habit of doing magic. And like I said, with. My. Life.”

The woman hummed appreciatively, “It might take that, Pendragon.”

“Who are you?” Merlin asked, though Gwaine was more interested in what she was. Humans couldn’t play with time like that.

The woman shifted again, aging enough that her dark eyes were shadowed by the promise of wrinkles. “I’m someone who does not want to die for another’s mistake.”

Gwaine, sword gripped tightly in his hand, cleared his throat and said, “You seem to know magic. Can you fix it? Can you heal the earth?”

The woman shrank back into a child. “Nope,” she said, popping the P and sounding far too cute for a potentially lethal magical being. “But have you tried asking Emrys?”

Merlin looked taken aback. “I can’t fix this,” he said. The little girl studied him, one eye squinted, “Are you sure?” she asked. “Pretty sure,” Merlin answered, though he didn’t particularly sound it.

The girl shrugged her shoulders and said, “Well, that depends on who you ask, I suppose.” When Merlin continued to stare at her with a confused frown, she shifted back into a young woman and adopted a false tone of surprise. “Oh, did the druids not tell you?”

“Not tell me what?” Merlin asked, completely confused.

Gwaine saw Arthur and the others shift uncomfortably, and knew he looked just as guilty. The young woman grinned wickedly. “It looks like they told _someone_ ,” she said in a sing song voice.

Merlin turned and looked at Arthur. “What is she talking about?”

“There are visions,” the woman said, catching everyone off guard with the gravelly croak. She had aged back into an old crone. “Prophetic dreams that show _you_ to be our savior.”

“Stop it,” Lancelot pleaded.

Merlin looked shattered. “You knew about this?” he asked, “All of you?”

“Aglain says the sources can’t be trusted,” Arthur said, ignoring Merlin’s devastation and speaking directly to the smiling woman.

“And why can’t they be trusted?” she asked, her voice changing to a smoother, silky tone as she became younger, yet again.

“He said the seers had gone mad,” Gwaine explained. “That they were crazy.”

The woman snorted in derision. “Crazy? No. Sick, yes. But we are all sick, us magic users. Aren’t we, Emrys? Our magic is acting out, panicking with the threat of what’s to come. The seers’ magic should not be ignored.”

Merlin looked to be on the verge of tears. “I don’t know how to fix this,” he said in a hushed tone, “Not on my own.”

“That’s enough!” Arthur declared. He was staring at the woman, his face angry.

She morphed back into the young girl they had first seen and stared up at Arthur with wide eyes. “Do not put your emotions over the needs of others,” she warned. “One Pendragon has already made that mistake.”

Arthur stepped aside and gestured to the distant hills. “You should leave.”

She smiled, cast one last longing look at Merlin, and walked away.

As soon as she reached the top of the first hill, Merlin turned on them.

“You knew this? You knew that I’m supposedly meant to save the world, and you didn’t think to tell me?”

“You’re not meant to save the world, Merlin,” Lancelot said calmly. “The druids say this isn’t something one person can undo. Do not take on that responsibility, my friend.”

Merlin began pacing back and forth. “You should have told me.”

“Aglain warned against it, and we agreed,” Arthur explained. He looked as though he wanted to reach out and grab Merlin, shake him until he saw sense, but he kept his distance. “We know you, Merlin. We knew you’d believe it and feel some guilted sense of duty and try to take it on.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Merlin scoffed.

Arthur finally gave in and grabbed Merlin by the shoulders. “This isn’t your responsibility!”

“Isn’t it? Isn’t that why you’ve brought me along?” Merlin stepped out of Arthur’s grasp and looked at each of them in turn. “Isn’t that why you’ve been asking me all those questions? For weeks it’s been  ‘Merlin, is it magical? Is there anything in the books, Merlin? Have you asked the dragon, Merlin? Just how powerful are you, Merlin? Can you control the bloody weather, Merlin?’”

Gwaine could see his guilt mirrored on the other’s faces. Hearing Merlin lay it all out like that, Gwaine had never considered what his questions might have implied, what pressure they might have inadvertently placed on Merlin.

Merlin was standing in the middle of the road, looking lost. His breathing was slow but heavy, his jaw locked. After a few moments of angry pacing, Merlin turned around and looked up to the sky and began to yell.

Bellowed was a better description. The words were deep, guttural, unfamiliar. Gwaine swore he could feel the ground shake with their volume. Merlin wasn’t so much yelling at the sky, as roaring at it. It was intimidating, and Gwaine didn’t know what to do.

He looked to the trees, bracing himself for the onslaught of uncontrolled magic, but it never came. The others were frozen in place, each looking just as confused and frightened by Merlin’s outburst.

Merlin let out one last roar and stared at the sky. He spun around slowly, looking in all directions. Whatever he was looking for, he obviously didn’t find because his angry posture deflated and he sagged to the ground, defeated and tired.

Resting his head in his hand, he asked, “I can barely heal people with my magic, how am I supposed to heal the world?”

Arthur was staring at Merlin with a look of complete bewilderment. He looked up to the sky in confusion before turning back to Merlin. “We’re not asking you to, Merlin. Not alone.”

Merlin let his hand drop and looked at Arthur, waiting. Gwaine was waiting, too, because as far as he was aware, they didn’t have a plan.

“When we get back to Camelot, we’ll talk with Gaius,” Arthur explained, and Gwaine was impressed with just how confident Arthur sounded. “We know what’s happening now. We’ll find something, Merlin. All of us.”

Merlin looked doubtful, but nodded in agreement. After all, it was the only plan they had.

Gwaine felt the air shift and heard a sound in the distance, loud and low. “Was that thunder?” he asked, but Leon was already shaking his head, his eyes on the sky. Merlin hurried and stood to his feet, his eyes on the sky as well, his face suddenly hopeful.

“That was the sound of a dragon’s wings,” Leon whispered. Gwaine had heard the stories of the Great Dragon’s attack on Camelot. He had seen the burn marks marring the castle wall, the claw marks that had removed chunks of the turrets. He hadn’t been there, but he imagined any man who had would not easily forget it.

Arthur and Leon were both standing as though they were preparing for a fight, their shoulders squared, feet braced, and hands itching towards a weapon. Lancelot looked nervous. The only other one who had yet to see the dragon, he was standing next to Gwaine, looking to the others for a cue. Merlin just looked excited.

The thunderous sound got louder and louder, eventually bringing the dragon into view. It was enormous, much larger than the wyvern Gwaine had encountered in the Dead Lands. The dragon landed in the center of the wheat field, its massive wings stretching the entire length of the wilted stalks, startling the horses.

It was not what Gwaine had imagined.

The stories had described a fierce beast, intimidating and powerful, unrivaled by any foe the Knights had faced before. While the dragon was undeniably large, the “fierce beast” looked as though he had seen better days.

His scales were pale and several were missing, exposing the soft, vulnerable skin beneath. His skin sagged against his mammoth frame and Gwaine could see evidence of injuries, both old and new.

“Kilgharrah!” Merlin exclaimed walking up to the dragon as though it were no more dangerous than a kitten. “Where’ve you been? I’ve been calling you for weeks.”

The ground shook as Kilgharrah settled more comfortably on his haunches before lowering his head and looking regretfully at Merlin.

“I’m sorry, Merlin,” Kilgharrah apologised. “I’ve been…ill.” Gwaine couldn’t contain his surprise and he reached out, slapping a stunned Lancelot on the arm. Bloody hell, the dragon really could talk.

Merlin was staring at the dragon, taking in his diminished appearance. “You’re hurt,” he observed, reaching out and trailing his fingers along a nasty gash on the dragon’s front leg.

“Mmmm,” Kilgharrah hummed. “My magic is not what it should be, and I am not the only creature on this earth who needs to eat.” Kilgharrah shifted, lowering his head until he was eyelevel with Merlin. “You can feel it, too, can’t you, Warlock? The sickness in your magic?”

Arthur turned to Merlin, his forehead furrowed in concern. “You’re actually sick?” he asked, but Merlin ignored him.

Kilgharrah, however, did not.

“Ah, Arthur Pendragon,” the dragon smiled. Little rivulets of smoke escaped from the corner of the dragon’s wide mouth. “It has been some time since we last met. I must admit, I’m pleased to see you haven’t followed completely in your father’s footsteps. Had he been the one to discover Merlin’s magic, Uther would have had him burned before the next sunrise.”

Kilgharrah breathed in deeply, widened his smile and exhaled. The air was suddenly hot and smelled of ash and rancid meat.

The Knights each took a step back. Merlin, however, seemed to be the only one not impressed, because he simply used his arm to wipe the sweat from his brow and threw an annoyed look at the giant dragon.

“The druids say the earth is dying.”

“The druids are right,” Kilgharrah told them, abandoning his dramatic intimidation. Gwaine could tell by the look on Merlin’s face that that wasn’t what the man wanted to hear.

Merlin turned and pointed towards the distant hills where the strange little girl had last been seen. “We met a…I don’t really know what she was,” he explained, “but this, this _girl_ , she was powerful. She would just change, age in an instant and then be a child again in the next.”

Kilgharrah’s wings twitched, and Gwaine saw more smoke escape passed the snarled teeth. “I know of whom you speak,” he said, his tone unpleased.

“She felt…wicked,” Merlin said, and Gwaine couldn’t help agreeing. The girl had been scary, no matter what age, and though Gwaine didn’t know that much about magic, he had felt a distinct discomfort being in her presence. Not unlike the discomfort Gwaine was now feeling standing in the shadow of a four ton, fire breathing dragon.

“Wicked,” Kilgharrah tested the word and nodded. “She is, and meddlesome. It would be best, Merlin, to avoid her if possible. She is a shifter, and she can be ruthless.”

Merlin cast an angry look towards Arthur before saying, “She says I’m supposed to fix the earth’s magic.”

Kilgharrah’s scaled brow arched in surprise. “Do you know how?”

“I was sort of hoping you would,” Merlin told him optimistically.

Kilgharrah looked down sadly, his wings drooping as he said, “I’m sorry, Merlin. This is outside my realm of knowledge and beyond my experience.”

“We will all die if this isn’t fixed,” Arthur told him, expression angry in disbelief. Kilgharrah looked lazily at Arthur, unaffected by the Prince’s anger.

“I am aware of that, Pendragon. But it does not change my answer.”

Merlin threw his arms out, exasperated. “What about my destiny? What about Arthur’s?”

“Your destiny continues to lie alongside Arthur’s,” Kilgharrah explained calmly, “It always has.”

Merlin’s anger now seemed to match Arthur’s and Gwaine looked worriedly from the sorcerer to the dragon as Merlin began to yell. “So, this is our destiny then? To die in an eternal summer?”

Kilgharrah leaned back, stretching his neck to tower well over their heads. He looked down at Merlin’s comparatively tiny form and said, “Your choices will decide how you die, Warlock.”

“That’s not really an answer,” Arthur pointed out. Merlin rolled his eyes and muttered, “It never is with him.”

Kilgharrah flapped his wings in annoyance and Gwaine felt another blast of hot, soot scented air. “Trust your magic, Merlin,” Kilgharrah advised. “Listen to what it wants.” And without another word, Kilgharrah spread his wings and leapt into the sky.

***

They cooked the grouse in Hunith’s old cooking pot. It was bland and slightly burnt, but it filled their stomachs and allowed them to focus on more important matters than their hunger.

It was decided that they would get a few hours sleep before making their way back to Camelot. They were remarkably low on supplies and, thanks to the dragon’s cryptic and all around unhelpful message, their moods were dark.

They took turns keeping watch, and by the time Arthur roused them all from their borrowed beds, the sun had moved towards the western side of the sky.

“We should make it to the other side of Russiton before we need to stop again,” Arthur mused. “We can make camp near the old temple, then we can cut through the Valley of the Fallen Kings, save us half a day’s march.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Merlin barked, “That valley is cursed. Nothing good ever happens to be people who travel there!”

“The world is ending, Merlin,” Arthur said, sounding unimpressed with Merlin’s concern. “It can’t really get much worse than that, can it?” Merlin let Arthur know he was an idiot, but agreed with his assessment.

They gathered water from the creek and left Ealdor just as they’d found it. They marched in silence for the first few miles, each taking the time to fully wake up and build a rhythm for the long day’s journey. Merlin watched morosely as they slowly left the familiar landscape of his childhood home. Between learning about the state of the earth’s magic, discovering his mother and the rest of his village were missing, finding out about Arthur’s confused feelings, and hearing the news that seers had envisioned him to be their savior, Merlin was feeling drastically overwhelmed.

There was too much to worry about, and his brain couldn’t decide which thing to focus on. He tried to make himself relax, to hear the beat of the magic beneath his feet, but it didn’t work. He kept wondering where his mother could have gone, why hadn’t she gone to Camelot to stay with him?

He thought about Arthur’s awkward kisses, and all of their still unresolved issues. He wasn’t entirely sure where he stood with Arthur anymore.

Then there was the fact that the earth was dying. The image of an old man with a sand-made flower kept smiling at Merlin, reminding him of his fate.

Merlin knew that seers’ dreams weren’t always reliable, that what they saw was just one possibility out of a thousand, but the world was ending. They didn’t have the luxury of choosing which route they wanted to take just because it was burdensome.

By the time they reached the ridges of Clear Creek, Merlin had made up his mind.

“Stop,” he called out, pulling on the halter of the horse he was leading. The others stopped and looked at him expectantly. He met Arthur’s eye and could see the calm, determination to keep moving. He had no idea what Merlin was about to do, and Merlin had to look away.

He started untying the ropes that were securing his bag to the horse’s back. His fingers were shaking so badly that they couldn’t loosen the knot.

“Merlin, what are you doing?” Arthur asked, standing a lot closer than he had been. Merlin gave up and let his magic unknot the rope, freeing his bag and sending Gaius’ burnt medicine kit to the ground.

“I’m not going back to Camelot,” Merlin said, slinging his bag onto his back and stooping to pick up the fallen kit.

“What do you mean?” Arthur’s voice wasn’t sad like Merlin had thought it’d be. Instead, he sounded angry, and when Merlin turned to face him, Arthur was scowling.

“I’m not going back with you. I’m going to help the druids, or try to, anyhow,” Merlin clarified.

“Merlin…” Leon began, but stopped when Arthur asked angrily, “What are we supposed to do without you? What if we find a way to fix this, but you’re not there?”

“If you need me, you’ll know where to find me,” Merlin said steadily. He handed the kit to Arthur, his hands still trembling slightly. “Make sure you give this back to Gaius.”

Arthur stared at Merlin, his nostrils flaring and jaw clenched tight. He snatched the offered kit out of Merlin’s hand and stormed away, ordering the others to follow.

Lancelot turned to Merlin, pleadingly. “Please don’t do this.”

“You should go,” Merlin advised him, “You don’t want to get left behind.” Lancelot looked to Arthur’s retreating form, Leon and Gwaine trailing after him reluctantly.

“I’m going with you,” Lancelot decided, but Merlin couldn’t have that. Kilgharrah said to trust his magic, to listen to what it wanted, and it strongly wanted to go alone.

“You’ll do more good with them,” Merlin told him, “Arthur’s going to need someone to look after him.”

“Lancelot! Let’s go!” Arthur ordered.

“I’ll be fine,” Merlin promised, and before Lancelot could argue further, Merlin turned away and started walking.

He only looked back once, just to make certain Lancelot hadn’t decided to follow him anyway. The distance to the druid’s camp was short, and by the time he reached it, the sun was still in the sky.

He saw the crystal first. It was glowing pale blue again, dimmer than the last time he saw it. He was halfway across the field when Aglain stepped out of the trees.

“Emrys,” he greeted, sounding pleasantly surprised. “I did not expect to see you again, at least not so soon.”

“I want to help,” Merlin told him, gesturing to the crystal. “You’ll have to show me what to do, but, I want to help.”

Aglain’s surprise grew. He looked to the empty field behind Merlin, and asked, “The Prince is aware of this?”

“He’s aware,” Merlin answered. “Not necessarily happy about it, but he is aware.” Aglain seemed suddenly hesitant in accepting Merlin’s offer for help.

“Emrys,” he began.

“My name’s Merlin,” Merlin insisted, unsure whether or not he was about to be turned away.

“Merlin,” Aglain correct with an apologetic smile. “You are aware of your destiny? Of the prophecy of the once and future king?”

“There won’t be an Albion to unite if we’re all dead,” Merlin informed him. “But if you don’t want me here…”

“You are more than welcome here, Emrys,” Garridan promised, emerging from the trees with a large smile.

“Of course, he’s welcome,” Aglain assured him, and he gestured towards the camp, inviting Merlin to join them. “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”

“I can help Arthur after we figure out how to save the world,” Merlin told him, managing a small smile. “And, besides, I honestly think it wouldn’t hurt for us to take a break from one another.”

Garridan looked as though he were about to ask why, but Aglain cut him off. “Understandable,” he said, and offered Merlin a small cup of water.

Merlin accepted the water and sat on the fallen log he had eaten breakfast at earlier that day. Aglain and Garridan sat down as well, and the three of them fell into an awkward and uncomfortable silence, at least on Merlin’s part. The druids seemed perfectly happy just sitting, and Merlin had the feeling that they were waiting on him.

“Er…so, how do we put magic into the crystal?” he asked, forcing himself to sound positive. He wasn’t going to think about Arthur and the others. He wasn’t going to regret his decision.

“We release our magic and the crystal absorbs it,” Aglain explained. “It’s terribly simple and terribly taxing at the same time. It is why we take turns.”

“How are you feeling?” Garridan asked. “I’m not going to lie, I was surprised when you woke up this morning. I didn’t expect to see you on your feet so soon.”

Merlin twisted his mouth into an embarrassed grin, and said, “I guess it just didn’t take as much magic as we thought.”

Aglain and Garridan shared a look. “What?” Merlin asked, remembering that these were the men who had told Arthur and the others about the seers’ prophetic dreams and their predictions that Merlin had the power to help reset the imbalance in the earth’s magic.

“It’s nothing,” Aglain said, looking at Merlin in wonder. “It’s just, the crystal took more magic from you than it has either of us. Combined.”

“Even with half a dozen druids, we’ve never managed to get the crystal to turn white,” Garridan explained in an excited whisper. “And you did it with one touch!”

“Could that have something to do with this rumor that I have the power to save the earth’s magic?” Merlin asked, secretly pleased with the way the druids’ smiles vanished.

“You know about that?” Garridan asked at the same time Aglain asked, “Arthur told you?”

“No,” said an old voice, causing all three men to jump, “I did.”

It was the shifter. She had taken on the form of the old woman, her skin pale and nearly translucent. Merlin dropped his cup and opened his mouth to warn Aglain and Garridan, but the woman had already raised her hand, her eyes flashing a deep orange.

Merlin’s lungs felt as though they were being squeezed from the inside, the air being forced out in one, quick rush. He tried to inhale, to take in more air but he couldn’t. The edges of his vision were blurring, the colours shifting. He reached for his magic, but was too dizzy. He passed out before he hit the ground.

***

Arthur was in a terrible mood and it was contagious. They had been walking for over an hour, and had quickly learned that anything and everything was liable to set Arthur off: mentioning Merlin, requesting a bathroom break, stepping on a twig that snapped too loud. Anything would cause Arthur to get irritated, and Leon half expected him to start growling any minute.

Gwaine had tried talking to Arthur after Merlin left, but Arthur was having none of it and had ordered him to drop it. Lancelot hadn’t said anything, but he was seething. Whether it was due to Merlin leaving or Arthur not making him stay, Leon didn’t know.

They had fallen into a tense silence, each waiting for one of the others to explode.

It happened a lot later than Leon thought it would, and honestly, he would have bet money on it being Gwaine.

But it was Lancelot who took a stand and confronted Arthur. They were still a half day’s walk from the Valley of the Fallen Kings, a few hours from Russiton, when Lancelot spoke up. “We shouldn’t have let him leave.”

“He’s free to do as he pleases,” Arthur snapped, and he continued to march. “If he doesn’t want to be with us, that’s his decision.”

Lancelot laughed derisively and shook his head. “No, offense, My Lord, but you can be an idiot.”

Arthur stopped dead, forcing Gwaine and Leon to pull back on the horses’ halters. “What did you say to me?” Arthur hissed.

Lancelot stood his ground and faced his Prince. “Do you honestly believe that Merlin doesn’t want to be with us?”

“Lancelot…” Leon cautioned, but his warning went unheard.

“If he wanted to be here, he shouldn’t have left!” Arthur shouted, “I didn’t turn him away!”

“You accused him of enchanting you!” Lancelot shouted in return. Leon’s head snapped up in surprise. “You did what?”

 

Arthur’s face reddened. “I do not have to explain my feelings to you! I don’t have to explain _anything_ to you!”

 

“What about Merlin?” Lancelot asked, and Leon could tell that they were dangerously close to reaching Arthur’s limit. Lancelot, however, either couldn’t tell or didn’t care. “Have you ever thought about explaining things to him?”

“I already have!” Arthur yelled, silencing Lancelot. The redness spread to his ears and his anger deflated. “I already have,” he repeated, his tone sad. “And he’s there with them, and I’m here. Alone.”

“You don’t have to be.” Gwaine declared. Leon, Lancelot, and Arthur all looked to him, frowning in confusion. The corner of Gwaine’s mouth quirked up into that cocky grin that warned he was either about say something really foolish or something really daring. “You are the Prince. And while I would never suggest you order Merlin to confess his undying love for you, I’m more than happy to propose you march your royal hide back to that camp and order Merlin to get his head out of his arse.”

After a few moments were Leon wondered whether or not Arthur was about to run Gwaine through with his sword, Arthur laughed and said, “You know, you’re right.”

Gwaine’s grin crew cockier. “More often than not, if you’d believe it.”

“I don’t,” Arthur said, slapping the back of Gwaine’s head as he started walking back the way they had come. Leon met Lancelot’s eye, gave him a thankful nod, and worked to turn the horses around. They had a sorcerer to find.

The mood on the way to the druid camp was as different as night and day from the dramatic pouting that had taken over after Merlin left. Arthur seemed more cheerful, and definitely more determined. And while it did provide a more pleasant atmosphere, it also resulted in Arthur pushing them, urging them to keep up as he marched at a brutal and steady pace, eager to reach Merlin.

It was barely an hour past sunset when they reached the field and the edge of the forest hiding the druid camp. The field was dark, and were it not for the stars and sliver of the moon, they wouldn’t have been able to see.

The crystal was gone.

“Could they have moved?” Leon asked. It was possible the druids hadn’t completely trusted them, and didn’t want to stay and risk Arthur coming back with reinforcements.

“No,” Lancelot drew his sword, his eyes scanning the darkened trees. “Garridan said they had to place the crystal here. The vein of magic runs through this field.”

“Then where are they?” Gwaine asked, drawing his own sword. Leon knew the general area the crystal had been, but without its light, it was hard to pinpoint exactly where the druid camp would be. Cautiously, they walked across the disserted field, each with their eyes trained in a different direction, watching for anything that might try and sneak up on them.

They made it to the forest’s edge unhindered, but now faced the problem of trying to find the location of the camp in the dark. Leon let the horse go, trusting it to stay put as he entered the forest. It was eerily silent, and everywhere he turned looked the same in the darkness. He saw no sign of the druid camp.

“Anything?” Gwaine called out several trees down. “Nothing,” Lancelot answered, sounding even further away.

Leon was about to suggest they go back to the horses when someone grabbed him by the throat and pushed him against a tree. There was almost no light in the forest, but Leon’s attacker was close enough that Leon could make out his face.

“Aglain!” Leon gasped as his fingers scraped against the druid’s constricting hand. He really didn’t want to stab the man. “Aglain, it’s me! It’s Leon, we met here, last night!”

Aglain quickly backed away. “Leon? Is Arthur with you?”

Leon rubbed at his sore neck and nodded, gesturing to the trees with his sword. “Somewhere over there.”

Aglain muttered something under his breath, raised his hand and a small orb of light appeared, illuminating the darkness.

“Leon!” Arthur called. Leon could hear them all running through the trees, coming towards the light like moths. “Leon!”

“I’m here,” he called, “I found Aglain.”

“I found you,” Aglain corrected. “We were attacked,” he said as Arthur and the others came close. The druid shook his head as if to clear it and looked to Arthur, his eyes apologetic. “She took Merlin, and the crystal. They’re both gone.”

Leon saw the color drain from Arthur’s face as he asked, “Who’s ‘she’?” 

“No idea,” Aglain told him, and he started walking, holding the magic light above his head to light the way. “We were sitting down, talking about the crystal and this old woman came out of nowhere. She had magic. Don’t ask me what she did. All I know is I blacked out, and when I came to, she was gone and so were Merlin and the crystal.”

The campsite came into view, and Leon saw Garridan propped up against tree, his head in his hands. Aglain gently let go of the magic light, leaving it to float in mid-air as he knelt down beside his fellow druid. “Garridan managed to hit his head when he passed out,” Aglain explained, gently raising Garridan’s chin and revealing a cut and bleeding eyebrow.

“I’ve got Merlin’s kit, hang on,” Gwaine said, and he took off towards the fields and the forgotten horses.

“Can you describe this woman to us?” Arthur asked, watching as the floating light moved closer to the druids, providing more light.

“She was old, small,” Aglain shook his head and gladly accepted the kit from a panting Gwaine. “Silver hair. There wasn’t anything special about her, but Merlin looked like he recognized her.”  He flicked open the medicine kit and grabbed a handful of bandages. “But her magic, it felt—”

“Wicked?” Leon guessed, causing Aglain and Garridan to both look up in surprise.

“You know her, then?” Aglain asked.

Gwaine shrugged and said, “We’ve met her, but tell me something. With the crystal gone, that doesn’t mean the world’s about to blink out on us does it?”

Aglain’s forehead creased as he continued to check over Garridan. “What? No, no. The earth’s death is a slow process, and there are other crystals, other veins of magic.”

“Could she have taken Merlin to another vein?” Arthur asked, sounding hopeful.

Aglain thought it over, his eyes widening as he said, “There’s one a few hours’ march from here.”

Arthur nodded towards Garridan. “Can he walk?”

“I can,” Garridan promised. He was holding a bloody piece of bandage to his head, but managed to climb to his feet without any assistance.

“Great,” Arthur said, turning to Aglain and gesturing for him to lead the way. “Let’s go.”

***

Merlin woke to a pounding pain behind his eyes. His mouth was dry and tasted like he had vomited and forgotten to rinse. He was lying on his stomach, his face pressed into the stone ground. He wasn’t in any notable pain as long as he didn’t try to move.

There was a bright light shining above his head, he could feel a heat radiating from it, warming his already overheated skin. For a moment, he thought it was the sun, which was confusing, because Merlin could see stars in the sky.

“I know you’re awake, Emrys,” said a smooth voice. Merlin knew that voice, he had heard it change with the years, shifting from young to old and back again. Merlin lifted his head and found a middle-aged woman staring down at him. Behind her was the crystal, the one Merlin distinctly remembered being in a field last he checked.

“Where am I?” he gasped. His lungs felt bruised, and talking caused the pain behind his eyes to flare. “What did you do to me?”

“We’re still in Essetir, a few hours march from Ealdor near the cliffs of Thie’dyth.” She knelt down in front of Merlin, her knees lining up with his nose. “As for your discomfort, you’ll live. The pain should only be temporary, there wasn’t any actual damage done.”

Merlin let his head drop back down. “Doesn’t feel like it,” he groaned. His breath stirred the dust on the stone ground.

“I needed to insure you couldn’t fight back,” she explained, running her hand through his hair. Her nails scraped on his sweat soaked scalp, the feeling gave Merlin chills and caused the hair on his arms to stand on end. “Arthur should be joining us soon, and I can’t have you making a blunder of everything trying to be the hero.”

Cheek still pressed to the ground, Merlin said, “Arthur’s not coming. We split up.”

“He’ll be here,” she assured him, fingers steadily massaging his scalp. “He has a part to play.”

“I’m telling you, Arthur isn’t coming.” Merlin wanted to cry at the admission. He knew Arthur wasn’t coming. Arthur was halfway back to Camelot, probably cursing Merlin’s name, and completely unaware of what was happening to Merlin.

Merlin reached for his magic, felt it dance in his chest, wanting to get out.

“I can sense your magic, Emrys,” the woman laughed, patting his head. “I wouldn’t advise trying to use it, if I were you. The crystal’s already had a taste of your magic. It would just absorb it, and you’ll probably end up passing out again.”

“Who are you? What’s your name?”

“I have many names, Emrys. It varies depending on what part of the world I’m in,” she told him. She stood up and began to pace back and forth. Merlin’s head hurt too much to look up so he focused on her feet, noting the dirt covered toes and calloused heels.

“The world is a big place, Merlin. Bigger than just these five kingdoms. Bigger than you could ever imagine,” she informed him. “There are entire civilizations out there that _worship_ magic, they thrive on it. You wouldn’t think something as small, as petty and insignificant as Uther Pendragon’s vendetta could counter all of that would you? But he has. The world is like a series of scales, all balanced out in nice and pretty increments. And Uther has tipped the scales.”

Merlin tried to push himself into a sitting position, but stopped when one of his lungs felt like any movement would cause it to pop. He relaxed completely, melting into the smooth stone beneath him. “Why are you doing this?”

“Let me show you,” the woman said, and she walked out of Merlin’s line of sight. When she walked back, she laid down on the ground beside him. Resting on her side so she could face him, she propped her head on her hand and laid a small, black bundle down between them.

“This is a gift from the Crystal Caves,” she explained, folding back the black fabric and revealing a cloudy, misshapen crystal. “I believe you know what this does?” She pushed the crystal closer to Merlin, placing it directly in front of his face, insuring he had no choice but to see it.

Without warning, the woman reached forward and snatched Merlin’s hand, gripping it so tightly that he could feel his bones rubbing together. He knew what would happen, and with great trepidation, Merlin watched as she pressed his hand to the crystal, forcing him to not only watch but to _feel_.

The scenes were blurred at first, changing too fast for Merlin to comprehend what he was seeing, but then the scenes slowed, the images sharpening into realistic clarity. Leon’s face came into focus, he was screaming and Merlin could just make out the shape of his name. Gwaine was trying to hold back a frantic Lancelot, the druids were sprawled on the ground, their eyes closed. And then there was Arthur.

Arthur was standing at the edge of a cliff. Merlin could see fear in his eyes. He was panting, his shoulders rising and falling with each heavy breath. His hands were up, warding off someone or something.

The image shifted and Arthur was suddenly on his knees, his hands clawing at his chest, eyes bulging as his mouth tried to draw in air. Merlin saw a dirt smeared, calloused foot slowly press itself against Arthur’s chest, pushing him back and sending him over the edge of the cliff.

Merlin manage to pull his hand back before the next image could appear. He felt tears on his face, felt the panic and fear from the crystal. He looked up to see the woman smiling softly.

She reached out and folded the black cloth back over the crystal before tracing her thumb along Merlin’s cheekbone, wiping away a tear.

“That cliff you saw?” she asked, her voice was low and consoling. “It’s right behind you, Emrys.”

“Why are you doing this?” Merlin choked. He could still feel the phantom pressure on his lungs, could still see the way Arthur’s eyes had widened when he couldn’t get any air.

“I’m going to save the world. Isn’t that how it works? A life for a life.”

***

Gwaine whistled appreciatively when they reached the first edge of the Thie’dyth cliffs. Arthur had heard of them, but had never actually seen them before. They were too far from Camelot’s borders and rumored to be too dangerous. Looking at the steep drop, Arthur could see why.

The cliffs were jagged, branching out like three gnarled fingers from a hand. If one traced the outline of the protruding edges, it was easy to see how the cliffs might have once been connected, fitting together like a giant puzzle only to separate over time, leaving gaping valleys that seemed to lead to nowhere.

The light from the large crystal was shining in the distance, proving they had come to the right place.

“How do we do this?” Gwaine asked. He was tying the horses to a tree while Lancelot and Leon rummaged through the packs, grabbing anything that could be used as a weapon.

“Carefully,” Arthur answered, and as one, they began to make their way slowly and quietly towards the glowing light.

Merlin was lying on the ground, his fingers twitching. His forehead was pinched in pain and Arthur could just make out the shiny tracks of tears on Merlin’s face. The woman was standing above him, hands folded calmly, her head tilted to the side, watching Merlin like a mother would a child.

“There’s no need to hide, Arthur Pendragon,” she said, her tone inviting. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

At her words, Merlin’s eyes opened wide. He tried to lift his head to look around, but the woman placed her foot on Merlin’s ear and gently held him down.

“Merlin?” Arthur slowly walked around the edge of the rock facing, his sword held at the ready. “Merlin, are you okay?”

Merlin looked as though he were about to answer, but he closed his eyes instead, gasping.

“Don’t talk to him,” the woman warned, “This is about me and you.” She glanced around, taking note of the other men entering the clearing. “Only me and you.”

Arthur kept his eye on Merlin, making sure the man was still breathing. The breaths were shallow and staggered, but still very much there. Arthur didn’t see any signs of an injury, but whatever the woman was doing to Merlin, it was causing him pain. “What do you want?” Arthur asked.

The woman lifted her foot from Merlin’s head and stepped back, smiling as she gestured to the blue crystal. “I want to restore the balance of magic, and I want to use a Pendragon to do it. Seems only fitting since a Pendragon is why it’s out of balance to begin with.”

Arthur could see the druids and Knights in his periphery, all eyes were on the woman. “And how exactly are you planning to do that?”

The woman’s smile was cold, and for the first time, Arthur could feel the ‘wickedness’ Merlin had described. “Simply,” she said, “You have to die.”

“Do you happen to have a Plan B?” Gwaine asked, stepping forward to stand next to Arthur. The woman’s eyes shifted from Arthur to take in Gwaine. She looked him up and down, studying him as though it were the first time she had ever seen him.

Her smile was crooked, her tone sultry as she said, “Sir Gwaine, the reluctant nobleman. You have the appearance of a laid back gadabout, but can be lethal when you want to be, can’t you?”

Gwaine returned her smile. “I’m also grossly underappreciated.”

“Hmm, I’m sure you are,” she laughed, and spread her arms wide, her eyes burning orange. “But to answer your question, no, there is no Plan B.”

Arthur felt a piercing pain in the palm of his hands and the pads of his fingers. He dropped his sword, yelling in surprise when he saw the blade was burning red hot. He heard the others do the same, the sound of four blades hastily being dropped was accompanied by the pungent smell of singed flesh.

Gwaine’s curses were drowned out by the sound of Aglain and Garridan chanting, their eyes a pale orange as they tried to counter the woman’s magic. However, the orange of the woman’s eyes glowed brighter and suddenly, both druids were being pushed towards the crystal. The closer they got, the brighter its pale, blue light shone.

Arthur watched as the druids collapsed, both unconscious, their magic drained.

The woman lets her hands fall to the side, though her eyes still shine. “No, my plan is pretty straight forward, and it can’t afford any interferences.”

“Arthur,” Merlin groaned. He was trying to sit up again, his eyes flickering between gold and blue.

“Shhh, Emrys,” the woman chided, “You don’t want to ruin the surprise.” With a forceful flick of her wrist, Gwaine, Leon, and Lancelot were thrown back, their feet leaving the ground as the flew through the air.

“Just you and me, Arthur Pendragon,” the woman announced, her tone suddenly harsh. Arthur turned to see his men climbing to their feet, only to be stopped by an invisible wall.

“Arthur…run,” Merlin gasped, having managed to climb to his knees.

“It’s too late,” the woman sang, and Arthur felt something pull around his middle, like a pair of giant, invisible arms were hugging him from behind, body slamming into the ground. He felt himself sliding across the stones and dirt and frantically started scrabbling for something to hold onto, something to keep him from going over the edge.

He managed to stop himself just in time. His palms were scraped bloody, the blisters from the burning sword had popped, and several of his fingernails had broken off, but Arthur didn’t care. He had stopped himself from falling off the cliff. Carefully, he pushed himself to his feet and turned around.

Merlin was still hunched on the ground, his eyes wide with fear as he shook his head. “Arthur, get away…from the edge,” he pleaded, but Arthur couldn’t.

His Knights were still fighting to get past an unseen barrier, the druids were unconscious, and the only weapon Arthur had on him was a small hunting knife stuck in the side of his boot, which he doubted would do any good.

“Do you know why Emrys is crying, Pendragon?” the woman asked tauntingly as she stalked towards Arthur. Arthur put his hands up in an effort to ward her off, but she continued to advance. “He’s crying because he’s already seen this play out. He’s seen your death, and there’s nothing he can do about it.”

Arthur saw her eyes flash orange once more and felt a sudden pressure on his lungs, forcing the air out against his will. Merlin began to scream for him, the sound broken and desperate, like he too was having trouble breathing.

Except Arthur wasn’t _breathing_ at all. He was trying to, but he couldn’t get his lungs to work. The pain in his knees as they hit the stone ground alerted Arthur to the fact that his legs had stopped working. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears, and he grabbed fruitlessly at his chest, trying to figure out just what the woman was doing to stop his lungs from taking in air.

The woman stepped forward, her face apologetic and sincere. “It’ll be okay, Arthur,” she assured him in a promising whisper. “This needs to happen, it’s the only way. But I promise, Emrys will be yours.” And with that, she placed her foot in the center of his chest and pushed.

He heard Merlin’s choked scream, felt the freefall, and then nothing.

***

Arthur was dead.

Lancelot’s brain was stuck on that thought, so much so, that he didn’t notice that he was no longer trapped behind an invisible barrier.

Arthur was…Arthur couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t.

Except he had fallen over the cliff, gone over the edge without a sound. Where had the woman gone? How did she vanish? She had just been standing _right there_ , right near the edge where she had pushed…

He had to see, had to make sure. Maybe he hadn’t really fallen, maybe…

Lancelot raced forward, Arthur’s name on his lips, his eyes focused on the edge of the cliff.

“Lancelot!” Gwaine was holding him back, stopping him from getting to Arthur “Lancelot, he’s gone, mate. Lancelot, listen to me! We have to stop Merlin!”

Merlin? What…?

The world was suddenly very loud. It was like Lancelot had had his head held under water before he finally emerged back into reality. And it was chaotic.

The druids were still out cold, but Merlin had seemed to regain his strength. He was on his knees, his hands on his head, fingers pulling at his hair in distress. He was screaming, the words angry and broken and full of grief.

His eyes were white gold.

The wind was biting and whipped across the cliff facing, sending spirals of dust and debris into the air. The sound of snapping trees echoed off the rock walls and any fallen limbs or loose stones were sent plummeting over the edge of the cliff.

“Merlin!” Leon screamed, fighting the wind and dropping down in front of the distressed sorcerer. “Merlin! You’ve got to stop this! You’re going to hurt yourself!”

The crystal was burning white, and looking at it burned Lancelot’s eyes as though he had just looked into the sun. It was absorbing Merlin’s magic, but unlike in the field outside the druid’s camp, Merlin didn’t show any signs of weakening.

“We have to get him away from it!” Gwaine yelled, but that was easier said than done. As soon as Leon grabbed Merlin’s arms to pull him to his feet, Merlin pushed him away, his eyes angry.

“Merlin, it’s me! It’s Leon!” Leon yelled, and tried again only to have Merlin one again push him away. Suddenly, the ground beneath their feet shifted, knocking them all to their hands and knees as the earth itself began to shake.

“It’s a bloody earthquake!” Lancelot shouted, and they all watched in amazed horror as a large section of the cliff broke free and fell, the sound echoing and thunderous, the dust it produced choking.

Merlin had stopped screaming, but his eyes were still glowing, the color now matching that of the crystal as he stared up at the sky. His magic had taken over, and there was no reasoning with him. “We have to stop him,” Gwaine said over the commotion before he stood on unsteady legs and began to run towards the trees.

“Gwaine!” Lancelot screamed, but the Knight ignored him and he continued to run. Lancelot didn’t know where Gwaine was going, but his curiosity was soon overshadowed but the sight of clouds crowding the darkened sky, blotting out the stars.

The sound of thunder boomed through the chaos, the lightning that followed lit up the sky and caused goosebumps to form on Lancelot’s arms.

As Lancelot stared up at the sky, he felt several drops of water fall onto his face. They hit his eyes, his cheeks, and lips, dripping down into his opened mouth. It was raining.

Lancelot looked to Leon. He was sitting next to Merlin, a gob smacked expression on his face as he held up his hands, the little drops of rain pooling in his palms.

“The bastard did it!” Gwaine yelled, running towards them and grinning like a loon. He was carrying Gaius’ medicine kit in his hands. “It’s raining!”

He slid to a stop, dropping down in front of Leon and Merlin. “Now let’s stop him before he destroys what he just bloody fixed,” he said, his now wet fingers slipping on the clasp as he tried to open the kit.

“What are you doing?” Lancelot asked, crawling his way over. Gwaine was hastily searching through the vials, reading the labels and letting them drop to the ground when he didn’t find what he wanted. “He won’t stop,” he explained, laughing in triumph as he found what he was looking for. “So, we have to stop him. Someone grab him for me, hold him down, yeah?”

Lancelot wasn’t entirely sure what Gwaine had planned, but while Gwaine grabbed the sodden bandages and emptied the contents of the vial onto them, Lancelot and Leon each tackled Merlin.

Leon grabbed him from behind, and wrapped his arms around Merlin’s middle. Lancelot had to grab Merlin’s legs when he tried to kick them.

“Gwaine!” Lancelot called, urging the man to hurry. Merlin continued to struggle and scream while Gwaine crawled on top of him and shoved the medicine soaked bandages over his nose and mouth, wrapping his hand around the back of Merlin’s head to make sure he couldn’t get away.

“Relax, Merlin,” Gwaine soothed, pressing hard against the bandages. “Just relax.”

Slowly, the white gold light in Merlin’s eyes faded, and his efforts to throw them off became sluggish and weak before stopping all together.

Merlin’s eyes closed and his head fell back, resting on Leon’s shoulder. Gwaine removed the bandages and placed his hand on Merlin’s neck, feeling his pulse. “Potent sedative,” Gwaine explained, tossing the soaked bandaged aside. “Strong enough to knock out any fool stupid enough to smell it.”

The ground was no longer shaking and the wind had died down, but the rain remained. The sky was an endless sea of clouds. Thunder boomed at random and lightening lit the sky.

Merlin’s grief hadn’t just conjured the rain, it had brought a storm.

***

Arthur was confused.

He was standing alone on the cliff side, his men and Merlin nowhere in sight.

“You’re not dead, if that’s what you’re wondering,” said the woman. Arthur spun around, startled to see her standing there, a happy, peaceful expression on her face. “I just had to make it look that way.”

Arthur frowned and took a deep, satisfying breath. The last thing he remembered was suffocating. And falling.

“It was an illusion,” the woman explained. “A bit dramatic, I’ll admit, but effective.”

“Effective how?” Arthur asked. The woman clapped her hands together and laughed, the sound getting higher in pitch as she shifted into a young girl.

“Emrys,” she chirped happily, “His power is so…” she squeezed her hands into tight fists, her nose wrinkling in excitement as she failed to find an adequate word. It would have looked cute had the child not absolutely terrified Arthur. “I’ve never met anyone like him before. He doesn’t just control magic, he _is_ magic.”

Arthur swallowed hard, his throat catching at the thought. “I, er…I still don’t understand.”

“The earth needed a heavy dose of magic to begin to heal itself,” she explained. “Emrys had the magic, he just didn’t know how to let it out. I helped him.”

Arthur’s confusion must have shown because the girl continued. “I have power, Arthur Pendragon,” she said, her voice suddenly said. “But it’s the wrong kind. The earth doesn’t want what I have to offer, but Emrys. Oh, Emrys has a treasure trove of power within him. But he’s young and still has much to learn about how to control it. He needed a little push.”

“My death was a _little_ push?” Arthur deadpanned.

“Your _fake_ death was little,” she said, her tone suddenly cocky. “I’m sure your real death would have had the same results. Would you have preferred I let you actually fall?”

“Er, no,” Arthur said quickly, “No, a little push was just fine. Thanks.” The girl giggled, and Arthur couldn’t help smiling.

“Where is he?” Arthur asked, suddenly remembering the stricken look on Merlin’s face. “Emrys? He’s not here.”

Arthur felt something land on the back of his neck, and reached up to slap it away. His hand came away with a small, wet smear. Another fell and landed on his elbow, another on the back of his head. Soon, raindrops were falling everywhere.

“He was letting his magic go,” she said, holding her tiny hands up to the sky, looking as though she was trying to catch the rain. Her laugh was contagious, and Arthur rejoiced in the forgotten feel of rain falling down around him. He looked up, surprised to see the stars had disappeared behind an ocean of clouds. The drought was over, whatever Merlin had done had worked!

“This isn’t the end, Arthur Pendragon,” said a stern voice. Arthur looked down from the clouds to see an old woman, the little girl gone. “Emrys has provided the magic needed to begin healing, but the purge against magic must end.”

Arthur could only nod.

As a bolt of lightning zipped across the sky, the woman disappeared, leaving Arthur alone. He was about to panic, but a clap of thunder boomed in the sky, causing him to jump and turn around.

His wasn’t alone.

Leon was holding a lifeless Merlin while Gwaine and Lancelot looked on.

“Merlin!” Arthur shouted, causing his three Knights to all turn, their eyes widening in surprise.

“Arthur…” Lancelot was staring at him with a look of shock. His face had drained of colour, and he looked very much like he had just seen a ghost. Then Arthur remembered that he had just had a mad magical woman fake his death, and realized that Lancelot probably _did_ think he was looking at a ghost.

Arthur would explain later. Right now, he had one thing on his mind.

Merlin’s head was tilted back on Leon’s shoulder, his eyes closed, mouth opened. Despite the tan he had developed, Merlin’s skin still looked pale, the black, rain soaked hair plastered to his forehead wasn’t helping.

“Is he…?” Arthur began to ask, but stopped when he saw the steady rise and fall of Merlin’s chest.

“He’s fine,” Gwaine assured him as he reached out and grabbed Arthur’s shoulder, feeling for himself that Arthur was alive and well. “But, mate, weren’t you dead?”

***

Merlin was cold.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had been cold. He wiggled his toes, trying to warm them up, but found his boots were wet. He groaned and tried to kick them off.

“Merlin?” someone asked, and Merlin felt someone holding his head, their thumbs rubbing along his cheekbones. “Come on, _Mer_ lin. Open your eyes.”

But Merlin didn’t want to open his eyes. He wanted to be warm. “Merlin!” someone barked, when Merlin tried to roll away. Reluctantly, Merlin opened his eyes and found himself staring at a very relieved and wet Arthur.

“There we go,” Arthur said encouragingly, running his hand over Merlin’s head and pushing his wet hair back. “About time you stop being lazy.”

“Arthur?” Merlin whispered. He tried to reach up and touch him, but his hands weren’t wanting to work and his arms just laid beside him refusing to move.

“I’m okay,” Arthur promised, and his thumb continued to stroke along Merlin’s cheekbone. “I’ll explain it all to you later, when you’re more awake.”

“Okay,” Merlin agreed, closing his eyes and shivering. “’M cold,” he complained, wiggling his toes again.

“Yeah, well, you really only have yourself to blame for that,” Arthur griped as he lifted Merlin and pulled him towards him. “Couldn’t start out small, with a light drizzle, could you?”

Merlin’s muscles wouldn’t let him do more than flop around as Arthur arranged him in his lap, his chest pressing wetly against Merlin’s back. Merlin opened his eyes again and tried to look around.

They were in a cave. It was small, and the floor was flooded, but it protected them from the worst of the rain which, as Merlin looked to the cave’s entrance, seemed to be falling in sheets.

“S’ raining,” he observed, causing everyone to laugh.

“Gaius’ll be glad to see your sense of observation hasn’t been affected,” Lancelot joked. He was huddled near the opposite wall, his knees pulled to his chest and his fingers tucked beneath his armpits. Leon and Gwaine were similarly arranged, and Merlin was surprised to see Aglain and Garridan smiling back at him.

“Try to get some rest,” Arthur said. “As soon as the sun’s up, we’re going home.” Merlin leaned his head back and turned towards Arthur. His nose was cold, and Arthur’s neck was warm against it.

“Sorry, I left,” Merlin told him.

“Sleep, Merlin,” Arthur whispered in his ear, squeezing his arms tighter, and Merlin did.

The next morning came much too soon. The druids stayed behind, offering their gratitude and the promise of peace before seeing Merlin and the Knights off.

The walk back to Camelot was long. The road, which had been nothing more than a packed accumulation of dust, was suddenly a slick mess of slippery mud. The rain was relentless, and while they were all happy to see it, it didn’t exactly make it pleasant for travel. Or sleep.

They were also officially out of food.

Merlin, who was still having difficulty holding his head up let alone walking, had been loaded onto a horse. He wanted to be embarrassed, but was too tired to truly care.

Also, Gwaine and Leon had done a pretty good job explaining what had happened, and after listening to their awe filled rendition of events, Merlin concluded that any show of weakness at this point wouldn’t necessarily lose him any respect as far as the Knights were concerned.

Arthur walked beside him, his shoulder occasionally bumping against Merlin’s knee. He acted as though he were leading the horse, but Merlin felt that the Knights knew Arthur was just wanting to be close to Merlin.

Merlin didn’t mind. He still remembered how it felt when he saw Arthur fall. He had dreamt about it the night before, forcing the others to wake him because the wind had begun to blow the freezing rain into the cave.

It was decided it was best not to think about anything that had happened on the cliff.

Despite being incredibly tired, hungry, cold, and wet, Merlin felt extremely happy. As far as he understood it, the world was no longer in danger of dying.

There was also the fact that Arthur kept looking up at him with a smile.

They reached Camelot late in the evening the next day. The tents and temporary shelters of the refugees were still littering the fields surrounding the city’s walls. Despite the rain and cold, people were out in numbers.

Children and dogs were running through the mud puddles, their parents looking on with elated smiles, some joining in the fun. The streets of the city were lined with buckets, bowls, and the occasional trough, each collecting the water like the people were afraid the rain wouldn’t last, that the water would go away again. Merlin didn’t blame them.

All along the way, they were greeted by smiling faces. Occasionally, someone would cheer, celebrating the return of the Prince. Merlin, who was easily drawing strange and curious glances thanks to him being the only member of the group riding a horse, was relieved when they reached the front steps of the castle.

Arthur pulled the horse to a stop, and uncaring of the people gathering around, reached up and help Merlin ease himself to the ground. Merlin was still feeling the effects from the crystal and his release of magic, and was grateful when Arthur pulled Merlin’s arm over his shoulder and wrapped his arm around Merlin’s waist, effectively holding him up.

“Merlin!” a woman shouted and Merlin looked up into the crowded courtyard to see a familiar and very welcomed face.

“Mother!” Merlin tried to run to her, but his knees seemed incapable of bending, and were it not for Arthur’s tight grip, he would have fallen.

Hunith didn’t seem to notice, however, because she charged through the crowd and proceeded to wrap her arms around her son’s neck. The hug was a little awkward, mostly because Arthur still had his arm wrapped around Merlin’s middle.

Hunith frowned as she looked between the two. “Merlin, what…?”

“It’s okay,” Merlin assured her. He hated when she worried. The line between her eyes was solely caused by a lifetime of worrying, and it was very much present as she looked him over.

“’Okay’ is not having to have someone hold you up,” she admonished, but she pulled him in for another hug, mindful of the Prince’s arm. “I arrived three days ago, but Gwen had told me you’d already left.”

“It’s a long story,” Arthur interjected. “One that’s probably best told inside. Out of the rain.”

“Arthur!” a voice boomed from the castle doors, carrying over the rain, and causing Merlin’s empty stomach to turn. Agravaine was smiling proudly as he made his way down the stone steps. “You’ve returned! Everyone is waiting to hear of your trip. Come inside, My Lord, we shall get you dry and warm.”

Arthur squeezed Merlin once, his fingers pressing into Merlin’s ribs as he offered his uncle a smile. “I’ll be there shortly,” he said, that practiced, princely smile on his face, “Just a few things to tend to first.”

Whether or not Agravaine was peeved by Arthur’s answer, he didn’t show it. He simply returned Arthur’s smile and bowed graciously before returning into the dryness of the castle.

Arthur turned to Merlin and whispered, “I have no idea what I’m supposed to tell them.”

Merlin pretended he didn’t see his mother’s worry line deepen. “The truth, well, an abbreviated version of the truth would be a good start. Might suggest you leave the bit about me and the magic out.”

Merlin couldn’t pretend he didn’t see the shocked glare Hunith was giving him. “It’s okay, mum,” he told her, but it wasn’t until Arthur offered her a reassuring smile and a “It truly is okay, Hunith” that she even remotely began to relax.

“I can take him, My Lord,” Lancelot offered, gesturing to Merlin. Arthur seemed reluctant, but after a quick glance to the castle and the waiting council beyond, Arthur relented and gently passed Merlin’s weight to the waiting Knight.

“Have the servants draw him a bath, a hot one. And he needs food, both of you do,” Arthur ordered. Before he left, he turned to Merlin and said, “I’ll find you when I’m done, if…that’s okay?”

Merlin grinned and tried not to blush in front of his mother. “I’ll be waiting.”

Hunith did a very good job of waiting until they were in Gaius’ chambers before unleashing her wrath upon her son.

“What do you mean they know? Who’re ‘they’?”

The next half hour passed with Lancelot, Gwaine, and Merlin explaining everything to Gaius and Merlin’s mother, answering questions, and graciously not mentioning the fact that Arthur and Merlin’s relationship had morphed into something a little more complicated that servant and master.

Eventually, there was a knock on the door, signaling the arrival of Merlin’s bath, and a rather dismal serving of vegetable soup. The drought might have ended, but they still had a ways to go before the stores of food could be replenished.

The bath, however, was heaven.  The water warmed Merlin down to his soul, and he felt perfectly content to remain there until the world really did end. Of course, the water eventually began to turn cold and, thanks to wobbly legs, he required help standing.

Hunith hadn’t taken the news of Merlin’s magic being drained all too well and was quickly becoming, in Merlin’s opinion, just a tad too insistent in her need to help. “Merlin, I am your mother. I have raised you from a babe.”

“Yes, well, things have changed a bit since I was five and I’d appreciate if you let Lancelot help me out, thank you.”

Merlin was more than happy, however, to let her wrap him in a blanket and settle him by the fire.

“I’m glad you’re here, mum,” he told her, pushing his sock covered feet closer to the flames. “When we got to Ealdor and I saw that you were gone…”

“I’m sorry, Merlin,” she reached forward pushed his fringe out of his eyes. “Had I known you were coming…but we had no choice. There was no more food, the crops had died and the creek was all but gone…Most of the village went East, hoping to find something closer to the capital, but a few followed me here.”

They fell into easy conversation, the crackling of the fire and the sound of the rain outside providing a pleasant atmosphere. Eventually, Hunith fell asleep, leaving Merlin to sit and wait alone.

His exhaustion was bone deep, but he wanted to talk to Arthur first, _needed_ to talk to him. Too much had happened over the last few days between Arthur and him. Merlin had been angry with Arthur, hurt that the man thought Merlin capable of enchanting him.

But when Arthur had fallen…

In that moment, Merlin knew what it was like to lose Arthur, and that was a feeling that Merlin could not stand to endure again.

Arthur had forgiven Merlin for hiding his magic. Merlin could return the favor.

The fire was dying by the time Arthur knocked gently on the door. Merlin didn’t want to wake his mother by calling out, so he released his magic and watched amusedly as Arthur stared at the slowly opening door.

Arthur quietly shut the door and angrily stalked over to Merlin. “What if that hadn’t been me?”

“Who else is going to show up at this hour?” Merlin asked, brow furrowed.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “How you’re still alive, is beyond me.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Shh, you’ll wake my mother,” he warned and started pushing the heavy covers to the floor. Quietly, Arthur pulled Merlin to his feet and helped him to his room. Merlin lit the candles by magic and protested when Arthur tried to sit him on the bed.

“No, I’ve been sitting for two days,” Merlin explained.

“You’re not going to fall over, are you?” Arthur asked, slowly releasing Merlin until he was standing under his own power.

“So,” Merlin began, “What did you tell them?”

Arthur rubbed his face tiredly and let out a heavy sigh. “An abbreviated version of the truth, like you said.”

Merlin could tell by Arthur’s haggard expression that the news had probably not been well received. “And?”

Arthur laughed tiredly. “It went better than it could have, I suppose. But that was probably just because my father wasn’t present. The council’s split down the middle, some believe me, while other’s ardently suggest that the druids are lying.”

“But we have proof that they weren’t,” Merlin complained, only to have Arthur arch his brow in unamused incredulity.

“Proof that can’t be explained without mentioning your magic,” Arthur pointed out. “And the last thing I plan on doing is letting your magic be known.”

“At least not until the ban on magic is lifted,” Merlin suggested.

Arthur’s face was solemn as he looked to Merlin. “This is going to be a long fight, Merlin.”

Merlin grinned sadly. “It’s already been a long fight. You’re only just now catching up.”

Arthur continued to stare at him, studying him in the minimal candle light. Merlin was beginning to feel embarrassed with the scrutiny when Arthur stepped forward and said in a low tone, “I think I love you.”

The flames on the candles flared suddenly, and Arthur raised his eyebrows in concern.

“Er…sorry,” Merlin muttered embarrassedly. His heart was pounding again, and he couldn’t stop the wide grin from spreading across his face. He cleared his throat and adopted a falsely nonchalant attitude as he said, “Yeah, I guess I might love you, too.”

Arthur snorted and returned the grin. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Yeah, but I’m your idiot,” Merlin informed him, before opening his arms and tilting his head in question. “I’m going to hug you now,” he said warningly.

“Okay?” Arthur said, sounding confused by Merlin’s tone.

“You’re not going to pull away in some macho grandstand against feelings?” Merlin asked, failing to hide his smile.

Arthur glared at him, clearly unimpressed, before reaching out and wrapping his arms around Merlin, pulling him into a tight, fierce hug. Merlin relaxed into the embrace, and pressed his face into Arthur’s neck, smelling his rain soaked hair.

Merlin could feel Arthur’s pulse beneath his cheek and had decided he wanted to fall asleep counting the beats when Arthur pulled back, placed his hands on either side of Merlin’s face, and kissed him.

This kiss was nothing like the first two. Gone was the timid, unsure prat who couldn’t make up his mind. Arthur knew what he wanted now, and didn’t hesitate to show it.

Eventually, they had to break for air, and Arthur pressed his forehead to Merlin’s. Merlin took a few much needed breaths and smiled. “I just wanted a hug, but…okay.”

“Merlin?” Arthur whispered against Merlin’s lips.

“Yes?”

“Shut up,” he ordered with a grin, and kissed Merlin again.

Merlin happily obliged.

 


End file.
